


reaching in the dark

by hereforthewomen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: AU, Allies To Lovers, F/M, Family, Freindship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Florence + the Machine, Mary/Matthew is endgame, Romance, Slow Burn, Sybil Crawley is a feminist icon, Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, as is Tom/Sybil, mary crawley has a heart, past Robert/Cora but no present them for obvious reasons, the love is requited, they're just idiots, what if Robert and Cora sailed on the Titanic with James and Patrick?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthewomen/pseuds/hereforthewomen
Summary: Robert and Cora perish on the Titanic along with James and Patrick, Matthew becomes the Earl instead of the heir in 1912.Mary is left to care for her sisters, and when Violet suggests an 'arranged' marriage between her granddaughter and the new Earl, both of them see its merits. An alliance forms between them, but will this lead to love?AU, but including many plot points from season one and two.
Relationships: Mary Crawley & Sybil Crawley, Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley, Tom Branson/Sybil Crawley
Comments: 54
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter One, April 1912

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This idea came from a dream, and, as per usual, from a Florence and the Machine lyric. 
> 
> This will be updated biweekly to start with, weekly once I run out of prewritten content. This is my first time straying from 'canon' so bear with me if it's not completely perfect. Reviews and feedback are very much appreciated.
> 
> Cobert fans, my apologies. I love them but they won't feature very much in this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will have a Florence + The Machine song as a 'soundtrack'. 
> 
> The song for the first chapter is 'Blinding' from Lungs, especially these lyrics: 
> 
> no more dreaming like a girl, so in love, with the wrong world  
> and I could hear the thunder, and see the lightning crack  
> and all around the world was waking, I never could go back  
> 'cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open  
> and finally, it seemed that the spell was broken

**Chapter One, April 1912**

It’s a perfect April day, and as Mary sits in the library staring out at the lawn, she thinks to herself that this is exactly the time of year that her Papa loves the most. He seems to revel in the crispness of the air, the colour of the gardens, the way Downton always seems to look at its best and most impressive. 

She wasn’t sure how she’d expected to feel, left alone to care for Downton and her sisters while her parents travel over to America, to attend the wedding of her Uncle Harold. She thinks if she’d thought about it at all before they left she’d felt rather relieved that there will be no one around to constantly remind her of the imminent announcement of her engagement to Patrick. They’ve spent the last few months expecting her to be overjoyed now they’ve finally solved the problem she poses, fixed things so that she’ll be Countess of Grantham after all, and will never have to leave Downton. 

When the plan had first been proposed, once it became clear that Mama would never have a son and that Patrick must inherit, she had been relieved. For as long as she can remember she’s wanted to stay at Downton, to claim the right that only an accident of birth has taken from her. However, faced with the reality of an arranged marriage to a cousin that, if she’s honest, she doesn’t like very much, she finds herself less overjoyed. 

Due to this she’d rather expected not to miss her parents too much, after all they’ll be back within the month, but stood in the library in Papa’s place, staring out at the grounds, she finds herself missing her Papa’s steady presence so much it almost hurts, a sensation that she’s puzzled by, as it is quite unlike her. 

At this moment, she’s shaken from her reverie by Carson, who opens the door and announces the arrival of “The Dowager Countess, m’lady.”

Mary turns around, surprised “Granny? We weren’t expecting you!” Her Grandmother has been visiting frequently in the absence of both her parents, but is usually a stickler for giving them advance warning of her arrival. 

Her grandmother hobbles into the room, looking older than Mary has ever seen her look before. Her face is grave, and she can tell at once from the way she hesitates before speaking that something awful has happened. 

“My dear, come and sit down” her grandmother says, gesturing to the nearby chairs.

Too curious to argue, Mary does so, crossing one foot over the other the way Mama taught her. 

Granny surveys her carefully, a flash of pain appearing on her face as she stares at her granddaughter. They are silent for a moment longer, before she finally speaks 

“Mary dear, I have some very bad news.”

“Oh?” 

“You’ve heard about the Titanic sinking, that the majority of the passengers perished?” 

Mary nods, she’d seen the news in the paper at breakfast the previous week, had been taken aback by the sheer extent of the disaster. 

“I’m afraid to tell you” here, her grandmother pauses, and tears come into her eyes, which she uncharacteristically has to pause to wipe away before continuing “that your parents, along with James and Patrick, were onboard.”

This is not what Mary had been expecting to hear. For a minute she thinks this must be some kind of practical joke, some sick test of her love for Patrick, but then she looks at Granny’s face properly. Then, seeing the utterly broken expression her grandmother bears, she knows that the worst has happened. 

“And… they… they haven’t been picked up?” she asks, aware from the paper that many first-class passengers had survived. 

“No Mary, they have not. Murray came to see me this morning, it’s confirmed. They… they won’t be coming back.”

At this confirmation, that a situation she couldn’t have envisioned in her worst nightmares has come to pass, Mary feels nothing. 

Or rather, she feels the absence of something, numbness spreading from the place in her heart that had held love for her parents, leaving her feeling cold all over, separated from the world as if by a veil. 

Dimly she hears her grandmother’s concerned voice “Mary, Mary dear, say something” and with great effort she pulls herself back to reality. She wants to fall apart, to wail and scream, proclaim that this isn’t fair, can’t have happened, but she cannot. 

She knows in a moment of breathtaking clarity, that she’ll never have that luxury, that as the eldest she’ll have to be strong for her sisters, for her Grandmother, for even the servants downstairs who depend on the family. Others might have the luxury of falling apart, but never Lady Mary Crawley. 

Blinking back tears that threaten to overwhelm her, she simply asks her grandmother ‘Sybil, Edith, do they know?” 

Sighing gently, Granny replies “No, Murray and I thought it best to tell you first.” 

Mary nods, this is good. They shouldn’t hear it from a lawyer, but from family. She stands, schooling her features into a mask of composure “I’ll go to Sybil now, and then,” here she pauses “actually Granny, could you tell Edith? I think it would be better not coming from me.”

Despite herself, her grandmother laughs softly “perhaps you’re right. I’ll go to her now, and then you and I must talk to Murray. There’s a great deal to be arranged.”

Of course, Mary thinks, in the absence of her Father, and an obvious heir, it is all down to Granny and herself. She’s been prepared for half her life to take over as Countess from Mama, when Patrick inherits. Of course, she thinks, this will never happen now, but at least she’ll get to put this into practice for a short while, before the new heir is named, before she’s forced from her beloved Downton. 

With that bitter thought, Mary sweeps from the room, aware that her Grandmother is concerned, if perhaps not surprised by her lack of emotion, but caring little for it at this moment. 

**. . .**

As Violet watches her granddaughter, her favourite granddaughter if she’s being quite honest, leave the room, she sighs. 

Mary is already more guarded, cynical, and pragmatic than any girl of twenty one should be, and she’s well aware that this news and the responsibility that will now fall on her shoulders will only exacerbate this. 

She is desperately sad for herself, the loss of her beloved son and daughter in law is a blow that she’d never expected to have to absorb. However this is nothing compared to the pain she feels on behalf of her granddaughters, especially for Mary on whose young shoulders so much responsibility will now fall. 

She’d had to spend several long minutes composing herself back at the Dower House before coming to speak to Mary, she knows that her granddaughter is strong, with a steely will that she inherits from her, but she’s also all too aware that she’s going to need her support in the weeks and months to come. 

This will change everything for Mary and her sisters, and if they’re to survive, they’ll have to plan. This in mind, she leaves the room in search of Edith, ready to inform the second Crawley daughter of the tragedy. 

**. . .**

  
  


Upstairs, her arms around a sobbing inconsolable Sybil, all Mary can think is that this is how she should feel, how she could have reacted to the death of her parents in a fairer world. In a fairer world she wouldn’t be the one left behind, holding what’s left of their family together, she’d be able to grieve, to fall apart in company with her sisters. 

However, she reminds herself, they do not live in a fairer world, they live in this one. And in this one, Mary is now in charge, in charge of Sybil, Edith, and even temporarily Downton. At least until the heir is found. And then… and then she supposes they’ll have to leave, to make some semblance of a life for themselves elsewhere. 

Looking down at Sybil all she can think is how unfair it is, Sybil will never be presented by their mother at court, dance with her father at her ball, will never get to see their pride as she becomes a young lady rather than a child. At least Mary and Edith, both older, have had that. Sixteen year old Sybil will in many ways lose the most from this, have the least memories of their lives before everything was turned upside down.

At this point, she notices that Sybil’s sobs have started to ease, and she watches her younger sister slowly compose herself, drying her eyes and sitting up independently, rather than clinging to Mary as she has been for the past twenty minutes. 

True to form, Sybil’s next words, the first ones since Mary broke the news, are ones of concern for her older sister “Mary, how are you so composed? Have you even given yourself time to cry?” 

Mary almost rolls her eyes at this, resisting because she knows this would only succeed in horrifying Sybil “Oh you know me darling, I’m never down for long” she says, proud of the fact that she manages to keep the wobble out of her voice as she does so. 

She sees concern grow in her baby sister’s eyes, so she adds “I miss them terribly Sybil, just as you do.” She allows herself to be drawn into an embrace, knowing that it’s Sybil’s way of showing love and comfort, she has ever been more tactile than either of her sisters. 

She allows herself to take comfort in her sister’s love for a few minutes longer, before extracting herself from Sybil’s arms and standing up. “I must go talk to Granny and Murray now darling, but I’ll be back up later, we’ll talk more then I promise.”

She sees the words register on Sybil’s face, sees her understand that as the oldest sister there are things Mary will have to deal with now. Not pausing to explain further, knowing that doing so may lead to her resolve to get on with things diminishing, she slips out of the room, leaving her devastated younger sister behind her. 

She moves down through the house, seeing it as she has never seen it before, not as the beautiful place of her youth, but instead seeing every small detail she’ll now have to care for, that she’ll have to keep running smoothly. 

She reaches the library once more, unsurprised to find that Murray and her grandmother are already there waiting for her. She suspects both that Edith had cried rather less than Sybil, and also that her Grandmother had been rather less comforting. For a moment she’s sorry she hadn’t broken the news to Edith herself, but then imagining the way that conversation might have gone, shakes away her regret, and plasters on a composed expression as she moves to greet Murray. 

They sit down by the fire, Mary on one side, Granny and Murray on the other, the old guard facing the new. 

Murray begins with a succession of paltry condolences, which Mary thanks him for before dismissing any other attempts at small talk. 

“So Mr Murray, what are we left with, must we vacate immediately?”

Murray seems taken aback by her lack of pleasantries, but a glare from her grandmother seems to spur him into action. 

“No my lady, quite apart from the fact that we haven’t found the new heir yet, you would never be expected to leave immediately.”

Mary nods, this at least is good. “When then, how long are we given?”

Murray looks uncomfortable “there is no set period, that would be between you and the heir. But I can’t imagine he’d want you to leave before the mourning period is over.”

A year Mary thinks to herself, they have at least a year. A year to find a husband for Edith, and some position for herself, someone who will allow darling Sybil to live with them. This might be possible. 

As if her Grandmother can see the cogs turning, can see that Mary is planning already, she prompts Murray.

“Robert’s wishes, his bequests to his daughters, what of them?” 

Murray fumbles amongst his stack of papers, and extracts what looks like part of the will. 

“You know, of course, that the estate is entailed to the next Earl of Grantham, whoever he may be, you can’t touch that.”

Mary and her grandmother nod, they know this only too well. 

“Despite that, there are substantial bequests left to the daughters of the late Earl, you each receive a generous sum as a dowry, plus an annual allowance to support you and the use of an estate house for life, should you remain unmarried.”

Mary is momentarily surprised, this is rather more generous than she’d imagined. So, if not living in splendour, at least they’ll not be destitute. This is good. 

But Murray is not finished. “Your father also made a last minute addition before his voyage, Lady Mary is named as guardian of Lady Sybil until she turns twenty one, in the event of his and Lady Grantham’s death prior to this event.” 

This is a shock. She knows her father had trusted her to a certain extent, and had given her responsibilities as the eldest. However she hadn’t thought he’d trust her with the raising of Sybil, and had thought that this would be left to Aunt Rosamund, or Granny. This feels like a vote of confidence from beyond the grave, one that she’s sorely in need of. 

Her Grandmother doesn’t seem quite so pleased. 

“Really Mr Murray? Are we sure this is quite appropriate? Mary is barely twenty one herself!”

The lawyer nods “It is quite unorthodox, but it was what Lord Grantham wanted.”

Here, Mary feels the need to intervene before Granny bites off the mild mannered lawyer’s head “But of course Granny, you’ll move in here with us? To ensure that all is proper? I”m sure that’s what Papa envisioned.” 

At this, her grandmother seems mollified. This is lucky, for Mary is only too aware that their position in society is about to become very unstable indeed, they’ll need any veneer of respectability they can get, three unmarried women living alone together. Luckily for them, there isn’t a woman alive who commands more respect by her mere presence than their grandmother.

“Of course," Granny says sharply "I’ll have the arrangements made today.” 

Murray seems to approve of this, making a note on one of his many pieces of paper. 

“And as for the estate, until the new heir can be traced and contacted, Mr Jarvis will stay on, if that suits you? He’ll need someone to make the big decisions, but he’s been running the estate for many years, so it would seem like a solid plan.” 

Here, Mary surprises herself, speaking up before her grandmother has a chance to intervene “Yes, that is a good plan, I’ll work with him.” She catches Granny’s rather disbelieving gaze, and adds “Papa and I used to discuss the estate, I’d like to, just until the heir is found.” Here, she sees the gaze fixed on her soften, her Grandmother likely thinking that Mary says this only out of love for her Father, that she’ll quickly become out of her depth and leave things to Mr Jarvis. 

What her Granny doesn’t know, that she thinks no one knows now Papa is gone, is that Mary is well prepared for it. It had become clear to her father a while back that Patrick doesn’t have a head for estate management, and that for the estate to survive, his wife would have to be far more canny than he. Since they’d arranged their marriage a year or so ago, Papa had been taking her with him on her rounds, showing her how the estate works, how it’s managed, so that one day she’d be able to support Patrick in its running, ensuring its survival.

She may not get to do it for long, but Mary finds herself exceedingly glad that she’ll get to put a little of his teaching into practice, to honour her father’s wishes in this way. 

After this, their discussions progress quickly, and soon Murray is leaving, letting them know that he’ll keep in contact, and let them know the minute they make contact with the new heir. 

As he goes, Granny makes her excuses and leaves also, letting Mary know that she’ll be back tomorrow, that they will have to start planning the memorials then. 

Left alone in the library, Mary sits still for a few minutes, before seeking out Carson. He’s clearly been forewarned by her Grandmother, for when she enters the pantry, she’s met by solemn gaze and his reassurance that he’s informed the staff and that they’re ready to support them in any way they can. Rather overwhelmed by this, and by Carson’s quiet confidence in her, she leaves quickly, heading upstairs in search of her sisters. 

She finds them, as on many occasions throughout their youth, sitting on her bed, tear-streaked faces rising to meet hers as she enters the room. 

Seeing them before her, knowing now that it is going to be her duty to protect and care for them, Mary can do little but walk over to the bed and collapse between them. For once, neither she nor Edith have harsh words for each other, and the three Crawley sisters simply sit together, entwined on Mary’s bed, and take comfort in each other, in all they have left of their family. 


	2. Chapter Two, May 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Florence + The Machine song for this chapter is 'Between Two Lungs' from Lungs.

**Chapter Two, May 1912**

After several weeks spent trying to find the bodies, something for the family to bury and focus their grief around, they are forced to accept that they can’t hold a funeral. Instead, Mary and Violet settle on holding memorials first in London, and then in Downton. 

At both, the church is packed, full of friends, family, distant acquaintances. Papa and Mama had been popular, and there seems to be no end to the steady stream of people who want to express their condolences to Mary and her sisters, to express how sorry they are, how proud their parents would be of them, how much they admire their strength. 

Throughout the horrible week of memorials and receptions, Mary remains strong, silent, and does not allow herself to break down. She stands strong and seemingly unmoved throughout the services, knowing that in order for her sisters to break down, to cry, and express their grief, she cannot. One of them has to be there to make arrangements, talk to the vicar, give the eulogy, and as the eldest it has to be her. 

In the eulogy she speaks of her Papa’s kindness and compassion, her Mother’s grace and beauty, and of their deep love for each other, born of long years of working together to build something wonderful, steering Downton and their daughters into the future. She knows she does it well, gives a speech worthy of them, when she sees that in both London and in Yorkshire there’s barely a dry eye by the time she’s finished. This, she thinks, is as it should be. If their eldest daughter can’t show emotion, can only cope with their passing by hiding behind her cool poise, then it’s only right that the others that have known them shall show their grief in her place. 

In her less charitable moments she thinks darkly that it’s lucky she isn’t sobbing, Edith is crying quite enough for both of them, and otherwise they may have risked drowning the guests in a salty flood. She knows that this isn’t sisterly, that she shouldn’t begrudge Edith the easy way she shows her grief, but somehow she can’t quite bring herself to care. She supposes idly that perhaps the onlookers are right, that she’s heartless indeed since she can’t even admonish herself for the way she’s taken to feeling about one of her sisters, even as she’s supposed to be caring for and supporting them.

She passes the whole period in this way, not allowing herself to give in, to be consumed by her grief, as she knows that if she gives in now then it will be the end, she’ll end up a snivelling wreck like Edith, which for all their sakes she cannot allow to happen. She is not deaf to the remarks behind her back, from friends and family alike who wonder at her calm and cool facade, questioning if she has any feelings at all. She does not miss the concerned looks that darling Sybil darts at her more and more frequently when she doesn’t think she’s looking. She does not miss them, but neither does she acknowledge them, doing so would mean allowing them to reach through her icy exterior to the very raw pain just within. 

It’s only when she’s back in her room at Downton, alone with Anna after the final memorial service, that she allows cracks to form in the facade she’s kept up in public for so long. Anna is merely repinning her hair, but suddenly the memories of all the times she’d done this with Mama sitting off just to the side admonishing her for some folly are too near, and Mary loses it. She may have been able to make herself unfeeling whilst in society, to hold herself together long enough to make all the necessary arrangements and represent the family properly, but now it’s all over, it is all suddenly far too much. 

Burying her face in her hands, oblivious to the way this makes her hair escape its coils, cascading down her back, she sobs. She sobs so violently that for a minute she can barely catch her breath, can hardly see or think or feel. It is only when she feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on her shoulders, squeezing them tight, as if aware that Mary needs to be held together, that she’s able to collect herself. 

Slowly, she looks up into the mirror to find that it’s Anna holding her shoulders tightly, Anna who has broken the unspoken barrier between lady’s maid and mistress, Anna who has risked her displeasure to comfort her, to let her know that there’s someone there who witnesses her grief and pain. 

For a minute, Mary is so grateful for the presence of her maid that she can barely speak, knowing that if she does the tears will descend once more. By the time Mary’s gained control of herself, she can see that Anna has started to second guess herself, she’s wringing her hands together, as if afraid that she’s about to be snapped at. 

Mary sighs internally, she knows that she’s not been the easiest person to work for recently, and speaks up reassuringly. “You’re such a good friend to me Anna, you always have been. I appreciate it more than I can say.” 

She sees the relief grow in the older girl’s eyes, and sees the way that she blushes slightly, pleased by the compliment. 

“I hope we’re good friends to each other m’lady” Anna replies, smiling softly as she finishes pinning Mary’s hair into place once more.

Despite her deep grief, Mary smiles “Of course” and takes heart in the fact that at least she’s able to show emotion to one person, and hasn't forgotten how altogether. 

Tears shed for the first time since hearing the news of her parent’s passing, Mary feels curiously lighter as if she’s let go of some mysterious weight that she hadn’t known she’d been carrying. She knows it seems to outsiders as if she doesn’t care, doesn’t have a heart, but she knows that this is not true. It is because she cares so much, misses them so violently, that she hasn’t allowed herself to give in to grief until now, knowing that she’d have been completely unable to face the concerned faces of friends and family alike had she done so. 

She finishes getting ready for dinner in silence, but now she’s let down her barriers around Anna, it is at least a comfortable silence once more, the kind of ease built by long years of knowing each other. By the time she finishes dressing, and Anna leaves her for her work downstairs, Mary feels ready to face the world again, ready to put her composed mask back on and take on whatever the evening will bring. Luckily, the only person still staying at the house is Aunt Rosamund, so she does not think the evening will be too taxing. In fact, she thinks to herself, she might even be able to sneak away straight after dinner, to get a little extra sorely needed sleep.

She feels as if she’s barely slept since being told the news, instead merely subsisting on stolen naps and cups of coffee stronger than even Papa used to take it. In fact, it’s become stronger than she’d ever been allowed to take her coffee before, back when there was still someone to care about such things on her behalf. 

She’s just thinking longingly of her bed when there is a sharp rap at the door. Expecting it to be merely Sybil or perhaps Anna returning with something forgotten, Mary calls out “Come in”. 

She’s mildly surprised to see her grandmother enter the room, having left her deep in conversation with Murray about some legal matter they haven’t yet seen fit to trouble her with. 

“Granny! Did Murray get off alright?” she inquiries, aware from what she’d overheard that the lawyer had begged off the evening’s dinner, citing a pressing work errand in Manchester. 

“He did and he sent his apologies, he was in a hurry to get off and you seemed preoccupied with Sybil, or he’d have come to tell you this himself,” says her grandmother, getting straight to the point as ever.

“Tell me what exactly?” asks Mary, getting a sneaking suspicion as she does so that she knows exactly what. 

“They’ve found the heir, he’s a thirty-year-old lawyer, living with his mother in”

“Manchester” finishes Mary, putting two and two together. 

“Yes.” agrees her grandmother, her grimace showing her displeasure at the next Earl’s rather mundane identity “He’s your father’s third cousin once removed, and his name is Matthew Crawley. Murray has gone to contact him in person at once.”

  
  


. . .

Later that evening, as Mary is struggling through yet another solemn dinner with her family, Matthew Crawley, the new Earl of Grantham, sits in his study, his mind reeling at the information he’s just received from Mr Murray. 

He’d heard about the tragic death of his father’s distant cousin, had in fact sent flowers to the London memorial service. However, when he’d heard the news it had not been made clear that the man’s heirs had also perished, so he’d had no reason to suspect that any of it would impact his life in any way. 

The appearance of the estate’s lawyer has changed all that. Matthew is now aware that he’s not just moved up the line of succession to the Earldom, but that it is his. Far from being simply another well-respected middle-class lawyer, he’s now the Earl of Grantham, charged with the management of a large estate and all the problems that come with it. Not least the continued existence of the late Earl’s three young daughters, who are all unmarried and remain in residence at Downton. 

Murray had assured Matthew that they'd been well provided for, that when the deep mourning period is up they’ll vacate, leaving Matthew to take his rightful place in their former home. 

While Murray had been there, Matthew had said little to this suggestion, still struggling to adjust to the idea of such an estate being his, but he’s now sure that he’s extremely uncomfortable with this idea. Downton is their home, and he sees no reason why they should leave it, be forced out because some accident of birth means that they’re all girls, and therefore cannot inherit. 

Seized by this idea, he hunts out the contact information he’d been left for his contact in the family, the late Earl’s mother, the Dowager Countess, and begins to write. He makes sure to begin by expressing his condolences, remembering his rusty society manners, before getting down to his true purpose. He makes it clear that he won’t move to Downton right away, will leave it until the six month deep mourning period has elapsed, and makes it even plainer that he won’t force the girls to leave even then, that they can stay until they marry if that’s what they wish. 

He’s unsure how this will be received, not sure if it will be seen as insincere, or as charity, but his conscience won’t permit him to do otherwise, to leave them wondering what the new heir will expect them to do, if he will force them from their home. 

Letter sent, he leaves the sanctuary of his study, going to fill his mother in on the drastic change in their circumstances, on what the late Lord Grantham’s death means for them now. 

Isobel smiles up at him as he enters, clearly not aware of the magnitude of the news he’s just received. “What did Mr Murray want, did Lord Grantham leave you something?”

Amused at the irony of her words despite himself, Matthew runs his hands through his blond hair, pushing it back from his eyes “Yes, you could say that he has.” 

“What is it?” his mother enquires innocently 

“Downton, I’m, I’m the Earl” he replies and watches his mother’s eyes grow wide as she recognises what this means. 

“This will change our lives irrevocably” he adds, aware, as ever, that he has something of a gift for understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on Saturday. Reviews and reactions are appreciated as always!


	3. Chapter Three, June 1912

** Chapter Three, June 1912 **

For several weeks, Matthew’s letter to the Dowager goes unanswered, and he begins to think it must have been very poorly received indeed. He goes on with his life, filling in friends and family about his latest unbelievable news, finishing up his caseload at work, and generally trying to wind things down so he’s prepared to take on the enormous task before him. 

Then, one day, when he’s almost forgotten about the letter, he receives an unexpected guest. He returns from a lunchtime walk, to find the Dowager Countess of Grantham sitting in his office, looking extremely ill at ease in the small room, and surprisingly ruffled. Looking at her general demeanour, he rather suspects that she’s had a lengthy battle with the modern swivel chair that sits on the visitor’s side of his desk, despite her poise she’s still balanced in it uneasily as if scared it will take flight with her at any moment.

He enjoys a moment of amusement, thinking that he’s perhaps found common ground between his mother and the Dowager Countess already, both women apparently sharing a deep dislike for chairs that don’t know how to stay in their proper place.

Coming back to the reality of the strange situation, he stands still for a moment outside the office, to the amusement of his clerk, before gathering enough nerve to walk in and greet her. 

“Lady Grantham!” he says, grateful now for the evenings his mother has spent trying to get him to understand the rules of his new world. “What an unexpected honour.” 

The woman on the other side of the desk gives him an imperious glare, clearly seeing straight through his attempt at seeming at ease. 

“Lord Grantham” she starts, and Matthew is about to correct her before he realises that she’s exactly right, that the title is his now and he’s going to have to get used to it.

“I’ll get straight down to it, I’m here in reply to your extraordinary letter.”

This is what he’d feared. “I meant to cause no offense, only to reassure you that the girls do not ever have to leave Downton.”

She seems to consider this. “That is what I hoped you’d say. Lady Mary won’t admit it, but”

Here he interrupts, “Lady Mary, the eldest daughter?” 

She nods approvingly. “Quite right. Lady Mary won’t admit it, and I’m quite sure she’d hate that I’m here at all, but she’s been rather concerned about what will happen to herself and her sisters. She’s been left as her youngest sister’s guardian you know, since she is not yet twenty-one.”

Matthew nods, he does know this, Murray having filled him in regarding the entirety of the late Earl’s complicated will and the stipulations of the entail. 

“Well”, he starts, “I meant what I said, I shall remain here until the deep mourning period elapses, and if they wish to remain at Downton, then they can for as long as they like. 

The old lady on the other side of the desk fixes him with a shrewd glare. “So your letter said. What I’m here to ask you, is why. You don’t know them.” 

Matthew sighs and prepares to explain “since you know I’m the Earl, you must know that my Father died some years ago, while I was still at school. When he died I was not forced from my home, where I’d grown up, and I feel uncomfortable doing that to anyone else.” 

“How very noble,” says the dowager, and he gets the sneaking suspicion that while her tone doesn’t make the words sound like a compliment, they are one all the same. 

“Besides,” he adds, “we’re cousins, are we not? The Crawleys must stick together.”

“Third cousins, once removed,’ Lady Grantham replies quickly “but I quite agree. It’s important for the family to stick together. ”

He watches her consider him for a few moments more before she speaks again “You may not be aware, but Lady Mary has been partially managing the estate since her father died, at the same time as arranging the memorials and caring for her sisters. 

At this, he sits up rather straighter, now rather intrigued about the very impressive sounding Lady Mary Crawley. “I thought there was an agent, a Mr Jarvis? Murray assured me that he had it all under control”. 

The lady harrumphs, showing clearly what she thinks of that. “You thought wrong, Mr Jarvis is an elderly man, who cannot run the estate on his own. My late son did a great deal of the work.”

Interesting, Matthew thinks to himself. This is useful information, but he’s rather confused about why he’s being given it. 

"Forgive me Lady Grantham, but why are you telling me this? Do you wish me to give Lady Mary the job of agent? Even I know that would be unorthodox.”

At this, a smile graces the corners of her mouth before disappearing “Yes, quite. No, that is not what I’m asking. I do wish you to allow her to carry on being involved with the estate, she’s long been prepared to take it on, there was an understanding between her and the late heir.”

Matthew gets a sneaking suspicion he knows where this is going. He’d been expecting something similar once he arrived at Downton, though he’d expected it to be subtler, for he and the eldest daughter to be pushed at each other, rather than whatever this is. He finds himself rather admiring the woman in front of him for approaching it outright, rather than hidden behind layers of metaphor and manners. 

“You want me to marry her, Lady Mary, I mean, make her the Countess?” 

He sees a hint of surprise in the Dowager’s eyes, which is banished almost immediately, her face taking on an impressively impassive cast before she replies “Yes, I do”. 

“That’s quite the request Lady Grantham, I don’t believe we’ve even set eyes on eachother.” 

“It may sound odd to you, but arranged marriages are quite common amongst our lot. She has the expertise in running the estate, in navigating society, and you have the title and the estate. You would gain her expertise, she would gain security and a home for her sisters. Besides, she’s very attractive; you’d make quite the pair.”

At this, Matthew is almost left speechless. “I don’t doubt it Lady Grantham, but you must know how odd all of this sounds to me.”

She nods “but you’ll consider it?” she says. eying him expectantly.

Faced with this level of determination, there’s little Matthew feels he can do, except agree “I’ll consider it.”

At that, Violet looks triumphant, and Matthew has a sneaking suspicion he’s actually just conceded an important victory. 

She stands, looking rather happy to be released from the moving chair “then I’ll leave you, and meet you again when you come to Downton.”

As he stands and moves to show her out, she leans heavily on her stick and says ‘no, no, I can see myself out.” Then, eyeing him knowingly she adds “You’ve got quite enough to be getting on with” before leaving the room, knocking the door shut behind her firmly with her stick. 

As soon as he’s sure she’s gone, Matthew collapses into his chair, trying to take in what on earth the last few minutes have been. Has he truly just agreed to consider an arranged marriage of all things? He thinks so. 

Unable to focus on work at this point, he remains in his office only long enough to be sure the Dowager Countess has definitely departed, before abandoning work and heading straight home to talk to his Mother about the afternoon’s events 

. . .

When Matthew arrives home, he knows that Isobel can tell something has rattled him, from the careful glances she keeps shooting his way throughout dinner, and the probing questions about his clients that she inserts carefully into thor conversation. 

However, due to the presence of their cook and maid bustling in and out, Matthew keeps her at bay throughout dinner, sensing her rising irritation and knowing that as soon as they retire into the other room, he’ll be hearing all about it. 

Sure enough, as soon as they’ve moved into the drawing room, questions burst from her. 

“What are you not telling me, Matthew, what has made you so distracted?” 

He sighs, looking at her affectionately, before he answers, knowing that what he has to say is not what she expects. 

“The Dowager Countess of Grantham visited me at work today.”

“She did what?” Isobel asks, her disbelief clear in her voice. 

“I wrote her a letter, after Murray told me about the daughters, making it clear that they can stay at Downton.”

At this revelation, his mother doesn’t seem terribly surprised.

“Well, that was very decent of you. Did she come to thank you?” 

Matthew smiles, despite the topic, thinking of the implausibility of the Dowager Countess and the phrase ‘thank you’. 

“Not exactly.” Here he pauses, thinking about how best to explain this to his mother. She loves him, and he knows she’s ready to support him in navigating his new world, but he also knows how little she approves of some of its ways.

“She suggested an arranged marriage between myself and Lady Mary” 

“The eldest daughter?” 

“Yes.”

For a minute, his mother is silent. 

“And what did you say?” 

“I told her I’d consider it.” 

She looks at him in disbelief, ‘You did what? Matthew, only the other day you were bemoaning the fact that they were “clearly going to push one of the girls at you”, and today you tell me that you’re considering an arranged marriage.” 

He sighs, recalling the conversation the previous week where he had indeed said just that. “I know, I know. But she made a compelling argument. I need someone who understands their world, Lady Mary wants to stay at Downton.”

His mother nods “Yes, I see. In many ways, it would make sense. But would it make you happy?” 

“I haven’t met her! I don’t know. But I feel a sense of duty to them, to lose your parents like this, and then your home....” he trails off, imagining the despair he’d felt when his father died, and imagining how much worse it would have been without Mother to lean on.

She smiles at him fondly ‘You’re so like your Father sometimes you know Matthew, he’d be very proud of how you’re adapting.”

He looks at her quizzically, “you know, I expected you to go off on a diatribe about marriage being for love, not for convenience or money.”

She sighs. “And maybe I should, but I do rather see Lady Grantham’s point, it’s going to be hard for you, both you and Lady Mary, and it would be very convenient for the two of you, we can say that.”

. . .

The next day, on the other side of the country, on a bench under a shady tree in the Downton grounds, Mary is being rather less receptive to a similar conversation. 

She’s heard a lot of unbelievable things over the past few weeks, but her Grandmother’s latest suggestion is so unexpected that it almost takes her breath away.

“You want me to _marry_ a middle-class lawyer from Manchester?” 

“No” her grandmother retorts sharply, and for a moment Mary is relieved, thinking that perhaps this has been some strange joke. 

Then, her grandmother fixes her with a steely glare “I want you to marry the Earl of Grantham.”

Mary rolls her eyes, still hardly believing what she’s being told. 

“He’s only technically the Earl, not in any of the ways that matter, breeding, birth, poise-” 

Here, she finds herself cut off by her Grandmother. “I think you’ll find that ‘technically” is the only way that matters my dear.” 

Mary must concede this point, however unwillingly. She’s well aware that he is the Earl now and that Downton is his, however unhappy she might be about the fact. Murray has assured them reluctantly that with her Papa gone, the entail stands no chance of being broken. 

“So. You want me to marry the new Earl, who has been _raised_ as a middle-class man, who won’t know the first thing about what to do in society, how to hunt, shoot, fish, hold his knife-”

‘Oh my dear, now you are being positively hyperbolic. He’s a lawyer, not a caveman.” her Grandmother retorts, giving her a look that suggests she’d better change tactic fast. 

Mary sighs. She knows this. “You’re right. I’m sorry Granny, it just all makes me so angry.” 

Her Grandmother’s gaze softens. “I know it does. And you spend all day being strong for Sybil and Edith, which you’ve done admirably. But you must think about this seriously, if you want to stay here, to ensure stability for your sisters, it might be the only way.” 

Mary nods, hating the idea but seeing her Grandmother’s point. “I know.” 

Then, something occurs to her “what, pray tell, makes you think he’d even ask me or consider it at all? The middle classes don't go in for arranged marriages like we do, not that I’m aware.”

She sees a flash of guilt in the other woman’s eyes, which is quickly smoothed over, but piques Mary’s interest nonetheless. 

“Granny? What aren’t you telling me?” 

She sees her Grandmother consider what to say, and she suspects that she’s about to hear a kind of half-truth. However, that’s often the case with her, so Mary decides to tolerate it. For now. 

“He wrote, sending his condolences, and making it clear that he’s prepared for the three of you to remain here for as long as you wish.” 

This, Mary thinks to herself, is unexpected. She hadn’t expected to be forced out of Downton immediately, but the news that the new Earl is prepared for them to remain there indefinitely is not what she’d been expecting. She also sees now what her Grandmother has read into this. 

“And you think that this means he may be prepared to take one of us on as Countess?” 

“I think there is a chance, yes.” 

This, Mary thinks, is the real problem. It’s highly likely that Granny is correct, that there is a chance, and that she’d be the most likely candidate. However, when she’s already resolved to resent Matthew Crawley and all that he represents, the idea that he may give her the opportunity to gain all that she has wished for since she was a small girl rankles.

She stands up, hoping this communicates clearly to her Grandmother that as far as she’s concerned, this discussion is at an end. 

“I see,” she says. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go see Mr Jarvis about the estate cottages.” They both know this is not quite true, Mary does not have a meeting fixed with Jarvis until after tea, but clearly satisfied that she’s made her point, her grandmother permits her to leave without comment. 

Walking back up to the house, Mary forces herself to turn her mind to other matters, ignoring the part of her that is screaming in elation at the prospect of a plan that will bring her Downton. Turning her mind instead to Sybil and Edith, she sighs. Forget the demands of the estate, or the potential whims of the new Earl, managing her grieving sisters is quite enough to be getting on with.

. . .

Tossing and turning in a fitful sleep that night, Mary drifts in and out of a strange dream. In it, she’s in the arms of a faceless man, waltzing across the lawn towards Downton. However every time they approach the great house she finds herself suddenly frozen in place as if encased by ice. She looks around frantically for her partner and finds herself alone. Then, each time without fail she wakes up in bed gasping frantically, it being all she can do not to cry out in pain and frustration as the Downton of her dreams slips away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, Mary and Matthew do not in fact meet in this chapter! However, they will meet in the next one, to be published on Wednesday. As always, reviews/reactions/kudos are very welcome.


	4. Chapter Four, September 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Florence + The Machine song for this chapter is 'All This and Heaven Too' from Ceremonials. 
> 
> Specific lyrics: 
> 
> and the heart is hard to translate  
> it has a language of it's own  
> it talks in tongues and quiet sighs  
> and prayers and proclamations in the grand days  
> of great men and the smallest of gestures  
> in short shallow gasps

**Chapter Four, September 1912**

As she casts her mind back over the past five months, all Mary can really think is that she has no idea what on earth she’d managed to fill her days with before the death of her parents. She had thought she’d been well prepared to take over as Countess one day and she’d assumed she understood the work that went into running the estate and house so smoothly. She’d been wrong. Never in her life has she been as busy, so completely and utterly occupied, as she has been since April.

She had not fully grasped the enormity of what her Papa had managed with what looked like ease, had not comprehended the burden that he’d shouldered so willingly and with little apparent strain. On every matter whether large or small, the final decision is hers to make, and it hasn’t taken her long to grasp how many livelihoods depend on these decisions being wise ones. Jarvis has, Mary thinks, been rather more a hindrance than a help. To her dismay he’s taken weeks to come to terms with working for a woman, and he’s increasingly reluctant to do anything he’s not certain her Papa would have approved. It’s not as if she’s proposing anything revolutionary, but it’s clear to her that there are many aspects of the estate that haven’t been altered in decades, seemingly for no reason other than a distaste for change.

Despite these struggles, the most surprising thing about her new life is quite how much she’s enjoying it. Mary realises only now how utterly bored and unsatisfied she’d been by her own prior existence. She had thought herself relatively satisfied with the idle life she’d led, taking the leisurely existence as her due. She recognises now that she’d rather begun to loathe it, had been unsatisfied by the unfulfilling monotony it had provided. For the first time in her life, she now knows something of what it means to do a day's work, to finish a day tired in body and mind. It has been quite the shock to the system, but she finds more and more that it’s one she loves.

Quite apart from filling her time, her new occupation has provided a distraction from her grief, given her a purpose that allows her to dwell on it less. She also finds that another happy side effect is the space she’s able to put between herself and Edith throughout the day, space that has been sorely needed. Unfortunately, she and Edith have not been shocked into a truce by their parent’s passing and in fact things are far from well between them, the chasm seeming wider than ever. Edith has made her disdain for her clear at every possible moment since the memorials, questioning every decision she makes about the running of the house, and making it plain that while Mary may be Sybil’s guardian, that doesn’t mean that she, Edith, is prepared to listen to anything her elder sister has to say.

Frustrated as she is at her sister’s actions, she finds it hard to blame her. She knows only too well that the Mary of five months ago would have delighted in abusing any authority over her younger sister and would have used it as an opportunity to be spiteful. When she looks back on that Mary now, how she used to act, she can think only that she was such a spoiled child, preoccupied by silly games and rivalries that she sees now are of little consequence. The untimely death of her parents and the responsibilities that have fallen on her shoulders have forced her to grow up she recognises, have meant that she no longer has the time and energy to torment her sister. As a result, she’s left her grandmother to deal with Edith when necessary, focusing any remaining energy on darling Sybil.

Sybil, Mary thinks, rather presents a problem. To begin with she’d been consumed by her grief for their parents, but in the past few weeks she’s been waking up again, taking an interest in the world around her and picking up some of her old causes once more. Now no longer restricted in her reading by their Papa, she’s practically living in the library, reading such a range of books with an appetite so voracious that Mary has been a little surprised. She hadn’t realised how deeply her youngest sister felt about so many issues, and while she’s glad to see her more like her old self, some of the titles she’s been reading and concepts she’s been discussing alarm her rather.

At this juncture, Mary realises that she’s been lost in thought in the library for far too long, if she remains here much longer then Granny will surely come searching for her. That, she doesn’t want. She’s well aware that her grandmother thinks she’s been overexerting herself, and she wishes to give her no further ammunition. With this thought, she stands up and walks from the library, seeking Mrs Hughes to confirm that the plans for tonight’s dinner have been finalised.

The thought of tonight’s dinner makes her mood sour. The new Earl is to move into the house today, his mother Isobel being given Crawley House down in the village. As of today, Matthew Crawley will take possession of Downton, finally becoming master of the estate and everyone that resides in it. Tonight, the family will dine in full splendour to welcome home the new Earl.

The past five months have been a welcome reprieve, a time when Mary has been able to almost fool herself that she’ll be left to manage the estate forever, that it is hers by right. However, this is not the case, and this liberating period of her life will be at an end.

. . .

Standing in the receiving line waiting to greet Matthew, all she can think is that under different circumstances she knows she would have found him rather attractive. His eyes are clear deep blue that compliments the gold of his hair perfectly, he’s tall, well built, and while he seems a little dull, with the pale complexion of a man who spends too long pouring over books, he’s certainly pleasing to look at.

She wonders idly what he thinks of her, if finds her annoyingly attractive also. However, she’s left little time to wonder, as he steps firmly into the entrance hall, Cousin Isobel by his side.

For a moment she looks to her left, waiting for Papa to make the introductions, but instantly she remembers that he’s gone, that it is down to her now. Attempting to hide her moment of indecision, and willing away the tears that threaten to fall, she steps forward quickly.

“Welcome to Downton” she says, proud of the way she doesn’t allow the warring emotions she feels at the whole situation to enter her voice.

She has eyes only for Matthew, but it is Isobel who responds first.

“You’ve been so kind,” the older woman says, moving forward to take Mary’s hand. Despite her efforts to the contrary, Mary finds herself warming to her, appreciating her attempts to make this feel less awkward.

The same cannot be said for her son, whose very first words are so blunt and thoughtless that Mary wants to reach out and throttle him.

“What a reception committee” he remarks, gesturing inelegantly at the arrayed servants. For a moment, the air is heavy with the awkwardness of the moment, before Isobel steps in once more

“Yes, thank you.”

Mary decides to listen to her better angels, and simply shoots him a reproving glare, taking the opportunity to introduce Carson to his new employer.

“This is Carson, we’d all be quite lost without him”. This brings a smile to the old butler’s eyes, and she knows that he’s touched that she’s chosen to honour him.

Then, Mary turns to her Grandmother and sisters and begins the introductions proper.

“Granny, may I present Matthew Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, and Mrs Crawley."

Then, gesturing towards her, "my grandmother, Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess.”

Before she can move on, Isobel interrupts quickly “Oh what should we call each other?.”

Mary watches her grandmother’s face grow pinched, clearly not approving of the easy way that Isobel dispenses with formality. She does not think that she will be invited to address her as “Violet” any time soon.

Her suspicions are confirmed when Granny replies sharply “well, we could always start with Mrs Crawley and Lady Grantham.”

Mary barely manages to hide a smile at this, but pushes on quickly, "and my sisters, Lady Sybil and Lady Edith."

Sybil, bless her, takes this moment to jump in and ease the tensions. “Cousin Matthew, it’s so good to finally meet you, isn’t it Edith?”

“Yes, we were very touched by the letter you wrote, it’s so good to put a face to the name at last.” Edith says, genuinely seeming to mean this.

At this, Matthew finally seems to breathe, relaxing a little and smiling at Sybil.

Mary envies her sisters their seeming ease with the situation, the lack of resentment they seem to feel for the interloper. Still, she knows she must play the willing hostess, and ushers everyone through to the drawing-room, giving Carson the signal to dismiss the majority of the servants back to their work.

Whilst in the drawing-room they chatter about this and that, Mary keeping her attention firmly on mediating between her Grandmother and Cousin Isobel, leaving Matthew to the tender mercies of her sisters on the other side of the room.

It is once they’ve made their way into the dining room and are seated at the table, that the interrogation begins properly.

“How will you find country life after so long in Manchester?” Edith enquires politely. “Won’t it seem rather quiet after the city?”

“Oh, I mean to get stuck right in managing the estate” Matthew replies glibly “I’ve always had a job before, and I’d feel quite lost otherwise.”

Mary feels a deep dread at his words, she’d known, of course, she had, that his arrival would mean an end to her management of the estate. However, some small part of her had still found herself hoping that he wouldn’t be interested in it, that she’d still be able to take the helm.

“That will be quite the relief for you Mary, no longer having to struggle along with poor old Jarvis,” Edith says in reply, her tone suggesting concern for her sister but her eyes saying otherwise.

Mary puts on her breeziest smile, preparing as always to hide her true feelings. “Yes, quite the relief, I was beginning to feel” here she pauses, giving her Grandmother a meaningful look “practically middle class.”

Matthew colours, clearly recognising her dig for what it is “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“No indeed,” adds her grandmother, eyeing Mary disapprovingly.

Sybil, seeing the turn the conversation is taking, intervenes.

“What about you Cousin Isobel, how will you fill your time?” Then, an idea seizing her, “Oh, Granny, couldn’t she get involved with the hospital? Surely you’d know so much, having been married to a doctor.”

Mary watches Isobel’s eyes widen in interest “What sort of hospital is it?”

“Oh, only a cottage hospital” Mary finds herself filling in.

“But quite well equipped!” Sybil adds, shooting her a reproving glance for her slight against Dr Clarkson’s domain.

“Well,” Granny starts doubtfully, “we could always do with more help at the bring and buy sale next month.”

This, Mary is sure, is not quite what Sybil has in mind, but she has no intention of intervening in this particular battle.

She turns instead to Matthew “This will be quite the adjustment for you I’m afraid, our kind of people are quite particular about doing things… properly.”

She sees a flash of something in his eyes, anger perhaps, before he replies

“Yes, but I’m sure you’ll agree that we Crawley’s are quite adaptable, even the ones who are actually middle class.”

Edith sniggers at this, and Mary knows she should be affronted by him, by the way he’s turned her own words back against her. However, despite herself, she finds that she’s amused, and a little intrigued. Not such a dull boy after all she thinks to herself, how interesting.

. . .

Seated at the centre of the long dinner table, in Downton’s opulent dining room, receiving the barbs Lady Mary Crawley shoots at him, Matthew can hardly believe it.

This is the woman the Dowager Countess wants him to marry, thinks might be receptive to marrying him. This is the woman she’d suggested is scared by the prospect of losing her home?

For a moment, Mathew finds it hard to believe. Then, he thinks back to that bizarre conversation more carefully, searching it for clues that might help him understand the woman across the table.

“Lady Mary won’t admit it, and I’m quite sure she’d hate that I’m here at all” she’d said, Fine, that’s clear enough. It sounds as if Lady Mary doesn’t like to show her true feelings, and doesn't like others to glimpse her insecurities. Looking at the carefully blank expression on the woman in question’s face, Matthew can easily believe this.

“She’s been rather concerned about what will happen”. This is rather harder to reconcile with the woman in front of him, but Matthew can see it. He’d noticed the flash of pain when he’d so rashly declare his intention to start running the estate himself, had seen how she immediately acted to push him away in response.

So she’s scared, probably angry that he’s taking over her home, and trying to hide it. That makes sense, makes her more understandable. What otherwise might seem like haughty snobbish reserve without this context, is rather easier to accept with it. No less irritating to deal with, but easier to accept.

Glancing at her again out of the corner of his eye as conversation continues around the table, he adds another thing to his list of observations. Her grandmother had not been exaggerating, Lady Mary is beautiful indeed. He finds himself thinking that under different circumstances he would have been drawn to her in an instant. In fact, if he’s honest with himself, he still is.

At this moment she turns to him once more, and he wrenches himself back to the present, rather thinking he’ll need all of his wits about him if he’s to enter into conversation with this particular woman.

“I’ve been studying the story of Andromeda, do you know it?” Mary asks, raising one of her perfect eyebrows at him.

“Why?” Matthew replies, impressed by her reading habits but suspecting there’s more at stake here than idle curiosity on her part.

Mary continues “her father was King Cepheus, whose country was ravaged by storms and nearly drowned, and in the end, they decided the only way to save them all was to sacrifice his eldest daughter to a hideous sea monster. So, they chained her naked to a rock…”

“Mary!” Violet interjects, “we’ll all need our smelling salts in a minute.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew sees Sybil, who is clearly enthralled by the tale, shush her grandmother, who subsides almost in shock at being so dismissed.

Here, Matthew butts in, suspecting where this is going and hoping that he can steer it in a more favourable direction, “but in the end, the sea monster doesn’t get her does he? She’s rescued by Perseus, son of a god.”

“That’s right,” says Mary, clearly slightly taken back by his knowledge. He rolls his eyes at her mentally, both at her assumptions regarding the extent of his education and at the sheer confidence it takes to compare yourself to the legendarily beautiful daughter of a god.

But, it seems, while he has flustered her. she hasn’t given up on the allegory yet.

“The sea monster lets them be and Perseus takes Andromeda to the place where he’s the heir.” Here she pauses, considering him “but after accidentally killing the king, he is forced to leave and become king of a neighbouring land instead.”

This is not where Matthew had expected her to take the tale, and he finds himself confused about who she’s casting him as here. Is he the villainous sea monster who Andromeda needs to be rescued from, or Persues, the son of a god who gives up his kingdom? He gets the suspicion that she’s no longer sure either.

“One could argue that the true villains were the stormy seas and the expectations of Andromeda’s family in the first place” he adds carefully, thinking as he does so that this may be an allusion too far.

He’s surprised when Mary gives him a glance that contains layers of emotion too deep for him to fathom and merely replies “perhaps,” before turning back to the rest of the table, allowing normal conversation to resume.

In the wake of this strange conversation, Matthew is simply content to observe for the rest of dinner, interjecting only when required. Listening to the conversation around the table, he notices how it begins to settle into a pattern that he feels in time could become comfortable. All the while, he’s hardly able to take his attention from the enigmatic Lady Mary, feeling despite her snobbish ways and understandable anger with him, that she’s quite the most interesting person he’s ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, they've met! I hope it lives up to all of your expectations :)
> 
> More Mary/Matthew interaction coming very soon (or at least on Saturday). 
> 
> As ever, I'd love to know what you think! I've just started a new job, so life is hectic, but I will be replying to you lovely people soon.


	5. Chapter Five, September 1912.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's Florence song is 'Caught' from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful. 
> 
> and I'm caught  
> I forget all that I've been taught  
> I can't keep calm, I can't keep still  
> pulled apart against my will

** Chapter Five, September 1912  **

Ensconced in the small library, having just finished what seems like it must be her final meeting with Jarvis, Mary thinks to herself that of course, it would happen now. She just feels as if she’s finally making headway with her management of the estate, has started to fully grasp its intricacies, and now it will be taken away from her. It will be taken away and handed over to tender mercies of a man who, for all his evident intelligence, knows nothing about the land or the people who live and work on it. 

Still, it’s the way of the world, she knows that better than anyone. She feels as if she’s spent her whole life being passed over for less capable men, why should this time be any different?

Sighing, she begins to gather up the ledgers, smoothing out their pages and returning them to their proper place. She gives the estate maps one last longing look, she’d begun to think about ways of managing the farms more efficiently… but no matter, it is no longer her place. Tidying away the final papers and placing them on their shelves she gives a deep sigh, her mind drifting to the new matters she’ll have to attend to once more, all of them could do with new dresses for the half-mourning period, several letters are waiting for a reply, yes, she supposes there are other things to occupy her. 

Then she turns and sees that she has had an observer in the room, for how long, she does not know. 

“Matthew” she says flatly, raising one eyebrow, “how can I help you?” 

. . .

Wandering around the ground floor of the house, looking for Lady Mary, Matthew is struck once again by just how huge the place really is, and how grand! Not a single piece of the house has any claim to modesty, every cornice, tapestry, even every door handle is designed to reflect wealth, privilege, and status. It’s increasingly hard to believe that all of this really belongs to him, and he wonders if he’ll ever feel at home here. 

Thank god Lady Sybil had taken pity on him after dinner that first day he thinks, taking it upon herself to give him the full tour of the ground floor, as otherwise, he fears he’d have remained lost forever in the maze of rooms. As it is, he thinks he’s heading towards the small library where Carson had suggested he’d find Lady Mary, but still cannot be sure. He knows he could ask a servant and they’d put him right in an instant, but some stubborn part of him is determined to find it himself.

Then, he sees a door ajar at the end of the hall and glimpses the lithe form of the lady in question, who is beginning to pack up a whole series of ledgers and maps which pertain to the estate, smoothing out their pages as she returns them to their place. 

Watching her do so, he’s struck by the longing on her face as she glances over the maps and sighs as she places them back into their box. That first night at dinner Lady Edith had seemed to suggest that Mary will be glad to give up the estate management, but that is not at all what the scene in front of him suggests, and nor has the intense way in which she’s focused on getting everything in order for him over the past week. It’s clear that whatever else she is, Mary is dedicated to Downton and its inhabitants in a way he simply can’t help but admire. 

At that point the object of his study turns to face him, and he’s discovered. 

“Matthew” she says in a tone that says little of what she feels about his presence, “how can I help you?” 

“I hope you don’t mind me intruding, Carson said I’d find you here, I had a question for you about Jarvis.” 

“Oh?” she says, raising one of her perfectly arched eyebrows

Slightly intimidated by her poise, Matthew carries on regardless. “Murray sent over many of the estate’s papers, and I’ve been getting on well with them, but I rather find myself missing much of the context, and I think if he could go through some of them with me it would be easier to comprehend”

She gives him a small smile, and he almost blushes to discover he’s finally done something she approves of. 

“You want him to tutor you about Downton, take you on a tour of the estate perhaps?” 

“Yes, I do, do you think he’d oblige?”

Here, she gives him a condescending look, clearly thinking this a stupid question ‘Matthew, you msut remember you’re the Earl now. Of course he would.”

Then, she pauses, considering him carefully. “But, would I do?”

This is a surprise “You’d do that for me?” he asks, hope rising in his chest. 

“No” she says, and he feels momentarily like a fool. “I’d do it for Downton.”

He releases a sigh that he tries to hide, but suspects she sees anyway. 

“Well, I just might take you up on that. It’s clear how much you love the place.” 

She gives him a small smile, her tone as she replies softer than he’s heard it so far “I do.” 

Nodding to himself, Matthew thinks it over, thinking also of the myriad of things about his new world that he doesn’t understand. The thought of the coming years is not a pleasant one, bumbling through life, never able to keep up with those raised to this life since birth, to whom this way of living is natural, easy. 

Perhaps in a different life, if he’d had time to adjust, play at being the heir before becoming the Earl, it might have been different. He may have been able to take his time selecting a wife, even perhaps bringing a middle-class girl to Downton, affording her that same time to get used to her new world. However, in this life, when he’s been suddenly thrust into the spotlight, he knows that he doesn’t have the luxury, he needs someone who understands this world, who’s prepared to help him navigate it. 

The adjustment needn’t be quite so difficult he realises, there’s an obvious solution staring him in the face, one already suggested to him. He thinks back to his conversation with the Dowager Countess. Not an arranged marriage, an alliance. One that could benefit both of them. 

Not wanting to take too much time to think, as otherwise, he knows he’d lose his nerve, he ploughs on. 

“Lady Mary”

She interrupts him, “Mary, please, it sounds too odd.”

He nods, taking in this information. “Mary, what would you say if I asked you to carry on running the estate with me?”

She blinks at him, clearly taken aback “As the agent? I think even you must know that would be seen as unorthodox.”

He smiles, thinking to himself, no, we wouldn’t want that. “No, not as the agent. As Countess… as my wife.”

This is clearly not what she’d been expecting, and she’s silent for a moment, then, “an arranged marriage? You’d want such a thing?”

“No,” he replies, very sure that he has to be clear about this next part if he’s going to win her over, that it must be carefully framed. He’s not quite sure how he knows this, but he feels certain that he should be honest with her here, sensing that any pretense at love or romance would be very poorly received, that she would see through it in an instant.

“Not an arranged marriage, an alliance.” 

Seeing her eyes brighten in interest at this last addition, he continues.

“I’d gain your expertise, your knowledge of the estate and of society, you’d be able to rule over Downton, have a position, and a home for your sisters. Everything will be as it should have been.”

She nods, understanding. “And the fact that we care little for each other? What of that?”

He sighs. “Well, I hope that will come in time, but even if it doesn’t, I think we could do well together.”

She fixes him with a steady glare, and for a moment he’s half convinced that she’s about to slap him, be indignant that he dares to suggest such a thing. 

“As it happens, so do I” she says slowly, “you’re not what I expected.” Then, smiling slightly “which seeing as I expected to find you ridiculous, is a good thing indeed.”

“You’re not what I expected either.” he adds, rather pleased to find her being so forthright.

At this, she smirks slightly “Oh good, I should hate to be predictable.” 

“Then…”

He watches as she composes her face, retreating behind her wall of poise once more “I’ll think about it.”

He nods. This will do for now. As he watches her sweep from the library, he finds himself thinking that while he may have just made a very mercenary proposal, which should feel all wrong, he can’t help feeling that something about it is very right. There’s just something about Mary, and he finds himself suddenly very eager to find out what it is. 

. . .

Reeling from the afternoon’s unexpected events, Mary climbs the stairs slowly, deep in thought as she heads in search of her Grandmother. Despite Granny’s hints on the subject, she had not seriously expected the new Earl to propose, and certainly not in a manner that she’d be genuinely considering. 

She’d thought, if he proposed at all, that it would be with some claim to love, some insincere soliloquy about her beauty, how he’d loved her at first sight. This matter of fact, almost business like proposal has rather taken her by surprise, and despite the anger she still feels at the situation, she finds she admires him for it. It’s clear that whatever else Matthew Crawley might be, that he’s a very decent and honourable man. That, she thinks is very irritating, as she would have been perfectly happy to loathe him for all eternity.

For a moment she has to pause on the stairs to collect herself, as she suddenly has such a feeling that Papa would have loved him, would have been very proud to call him his heir and future son if circumstances had allowed. 

She can hardly believe that she’s really considering his proposition, but she finds that she sees the sense in it. She’d never really expected to marry for love, she’d known since she was a small girl that she was expected to marry Patrick, and the arrangement he has proposed is strangely attractive. She’s still not sure what she makes of him, some of his sensibilities are so odd, so different from the ones she’s grown up with, but to her surprise she finds herself thinking that he’s right, they could work well together, make something worth having in the end. 

That in mind, she heads towards the suite of rooms her Grandmother has claimed, knowing already how very smug she’s going to be at being proved right. 

She finds the elderly woman sequestered in her sitting room, and joins her by the window, making gracious small talk before plucking up courage to get to the real matter at hand. 

“Granny, I have something to tell you.”

“Oh good,” the other woman replies “I wondered when you were going to get to the point.”

Mary rolls her eyes, amused as ever by her Grandmother’s sardonic ways. 

“Matthew proposed to me just now, asked me to be his wife.”

She sees a small smile of satisfaction break out on Violet’s face “Yes, I told you he would.” 

“You did.” Mary replies, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a longer or more exasperated response. 

“So, what did you say?” 

Mary looks down at her hands “I said that I’d think about it.”

“Well then, you’d better start thinking.”

Mary sighs “he spoke of an alliance between us, and I have to say it’s more appealing than I thought it would be”

“Do you love him?” 

Mary shoots her Grandmother an exasperated glare “You know I do not. Does it matter?” 

The other woman looks at her calculatingly “Even I know that the heart does not exist purely for the purpose of pumping blood.”

Exasperated at her Grandmother’s contrary ways, she asks “I thought this was what you wanted?” 

“It is.” she says simply, “but I want to make sure you’re certain, there’s no ending a marriage once begun, not for our kind of people.” 

Mary nods, this is true. “You know, I think I might be. I think he’s right, we’d do well together.”

Granny eyes her knowingly “and you’d get to stay at Downton.”

She sighs, “yes, I would.” 

“Well then, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind after all.”

She nods slowly. “Yes, I rather think I have.”

. . .

A week later, in the back of the car next to Matthew, Taylor driving them out to see one of the furthest farms, Mary can feel the weight of his unanswered question hanging in the air between them. 

When they exit the car and start towards the farm, Taylor following at a respectful distance behind them, Matthew turns to her, with an expectant look in his eyes. 

Up until this moment, Mary has not been completely sure what she’s decided to answer. She’s observed him over the past week, taking in the way he pays real attention to every aspect of the estate, from the upkeep of the house to the way they store the grain. She’s seen how quickly he takes to it, how naturally caring for the place and its inhabitants comes to him. And, perhaps above all, she’s seen that he is genuine in his desire to involve her, to listen to her opinions, and value her expertise. 

All of this means that now, at this moment, seeing him happily accompanying her to one of the farthest flung farms, she’s sure. Or, at least, nearly sure, she has one final test for him. 

“I’m going to say yes, on one condition.” 

He tilts his head at her questioningly, hair ruffled a little by the breeze in a way that she finds surprisingly distracting.

“I want to always have a say in how we do things, in _what_ we do. Papa was a wonderful husband, but he rather left Mama out. I might have been happy with that once, but after doing this for so long, I couldn’t bear it.”

He nods, considering her for a moment. Then, he reaches out his hand and takes hold of hers. 

“Done. Allies and partners, I can work with that.” 

Inwardly, she sighs with relief. This might not be the engagement she’d dreamt about as a very small child, before the idea of Patrick, but her Grandmother is right, it’s the best offer she’s likely to get at this point. She thinks they can make it work, maybe even be happy. 

Then, he smirks, and she feels a twinge of something more, something exciting. “Besides”, he says, his tone playful, “I rather doubt any man has ever succeeded in leaving you out of anything, and I don’t see how I would be any different.” 

At this, she can’t help smiling. “Quite right, don’t you forget it.”

She sighs then, thinking about the logistics. “We can’t announce it yet, it’ll have to wait until the house is out of mourning, otherwise people would talk.”

She sees the sense of this register on Matthew’s face, “so that will be…”

“March, perhaps we should hold a dinner? There are all sorts of local bores and family friends that you really should meet.

“Then March it is,” he says, before adding “though I simply won’t be able to keep it from Mother for that long.”

She smiles, thinking of her own family “nor I from Granny. So we’ll tell them, but no one else.” She sighs, “Granny will be quite insufferable.”

At this, that so confusing smirk reappears on his face, and she can tell he’s thinking back over his own run-ins with her grandmother. “Now that I can quite believe.” 

They exchange a conspiratorial glance that contains more true warmth than she’d expected and head off towards the farm, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - a (fairly lengthy) note about the way I see and write Mary. 
> 
> I think it’s probably very clear from my writing that I’m a huge fan of Mary as a character, she’s by far my favourite on the show. However, as I hope is clear in this fic and in my others, that’s not because I’m under any illusions that she’s a ‘nice’ person. 
> 
> Mary isn’t always nice, and when she lashes out she hurts people. This is most noticeable in her relationship with Edith, though I do think an often overlooked fact is that in the majority of cases Edith gives as good as she gets. This is particularly true in season one. 
> 
> Despite this, I think she’s brilliant. She’s intelligent, fiercely loyal, incredibly protective of those she cares about, caring of those she feels responsible for, and ultimately doesn’t mind mucking in to do what needs to be done. 
> 
> When we meet Mary in season one, a future that seemed certain, marrying Patrick and getting to stay at Downton, has just disappeared in an instant. All of a sudden there’s a new heir, who she’s expected to welcome with open arms. The message she’s getting from the adults around her is marry him and stay at Downton or marry someone else and get out of the way.
> 
> She has no agency other than deciding who she marries, and when Mary lets her guard down we see how vulnerable she really is. The moment that comes to mind for this is when she’s talking to Isobel after Sybil has been hurt and says of William that “he’s made her proud, there are plenty of children in grander circumstances who would love to say the same”. This is a rare moment of candidness from her in season one, and one that brings home just how she really feels about her life
> 
> The other notable moment of vulnerability in season one that I take a lot of inspiration from is the ‘my life makes me angry’ moment, which is incredibly telling and which you’ll see a little of in future chapters.
> 
> All of this informs the way I write Mary, remembering that while she hides it most of the time, she’s vulnerable and feels powerless over much of her life. She’s only twenty one when we first meet her, so reacts immaturely to a lot of early season one moments, but with all of this in mind I find her so understandable and deeply human.
> 
> In this fic I’m actually pulling quite heavily inspiration wise from later seasons, as I think that the death of her parents would accelerate her growth as a person, taking away some of the immaturity we see in the early series. Despite that, there will be plenty of season one esque Mary, growing up doesn’t happen all at once! She’ll continue to be the flawed but incredibly interesting character we know and love (or at least who I love!) 
> 
> If you’ve made it this far, thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy the fic.


	6. Chapter Six, October 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Florence song for this chapter is *definitely* 'Third Eye' from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful. It's one of the songs I think most relates to Mary.
> 
> hey, look up!  
> don't make a spectre of yourself  
> always shutting out the light  
> caught in your own creation  
> look up, look up! It tore you open  
> and oh, how much  
> 'cause there's a hole where your heart lies  
> and I can see it with my third eye  
> and though my touch, it magnifies  
> you pull away, you don't know why

** Chapter Six, October 1912 **

Reaching the top of the hill that overlooks Downton, the place that Mary has long thought holds by far the best view of the estate and house, she sighs, a rush of memories hitting her hard. 

Foremost among them are countless memories of the times Papa had brought her here, hefting her onto his shoulders and pointing out all that would be hers one day. Of course, she’d realised later that his words weren’t quite true, it would all be hers one day _if_ she married Patrick. Still, back on those long ago walks of her youth, the words ‘entail’ and ‘heir’ meant little to her. Back then she had simply revelled in the beauty of her surroundings, of Papa’s strong hand in hers, and of a long afternoon liberated from the school room. 

Later, this is where Patrick had bought her to ask her to marry him. He’d traded on the reminder of what the marriage would give her to ensure that she agreed, that she understood how sensible accepting his proposal really was. 

For a long time, the memory of that proposal, of Patrick’s pretence at loving her, had kept her from coming up here. The view had somehow felt spoiled. While she’s sad that he’s gone, it’s mixed with a perverse sense of gladness that at least now she’s free from this, has the opportunity to regain the sense of childish joy this place once brought her.

And of course, she thinks, glancing down the hill to see her fiancé climbing after her, now there’s Matthew. She’d delayed bringing him up here, not feeling comfortable sharing such a place with him, but over the past few weeks, that has changed. She’s begun to see, after long hours spent working on estate matters with him, teaching him to love Downton, that he’s far more than she’d thought he was at first. 

Her initial suspicions that he’s a decent and honest man have been borne out time and time again, in their interactions and his interactions with others. More than that though, she’s also come to realise that these traits are no pretence. They are not a trick aimed at ingratiating himself with those that surround him, but simply an innate part of him, which he couldn’t obscure if he tried. 

Oh they’ve argued, near constantly at first, and ultimately they agree on very little. Their worlds are too different for them to have much in common, at least on the surface. But, little by little, they’ve discovered that while they may disagree on so much, on the most important things, they are completely in accord.

Patrick, Mary thinks, would have had to be coerced into truly seeing the duty they have to the estate’s tenants, but this is the major thing she and Matthew share. They both have a deep belief that whatever they may do with the estate, they must keep in mind that theirs is not the only family that calls it home, whose interests matter. Mary is self-aware enough to know that she has not always thought of the estate like this, but long months spent running it have made this very clear.

Just as she reaches this point in her thoughts, Matthew catches up with her. He flops down onto the grass next to where she stands, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

“You really don’t care about doing things properly, do you?” Mary asks, thinking of the many times she’d been admonished for carelessly sitting on the grass as a child.

He looks up at her and replies, exasperatedly, “I don’t when you’re the only one around for miles, and I’m boiling hot, have a heart Mary.”

She raises one eyebrow at him “I don’t have a heart, everyone knows that.” 

“Usually I’d protest, but after the way you rushed me up that hill….” he trails off, smirking at her, the look in his eyes surprisingly fond.

Feeling a twinge of something she can’t, or won’t, identify she simply replies, “that tweed is too heavy, it was clearly intended for shooting, not walking.” Then, considering him carefully, “I’m surprised Bates missed that.” 

Matthew flushes, somehow managing to look like a schoolboy caught in some fit of minor rebellion “I’m afraid I rather dressed myself today, I was running behind after lunch and gave him the slip. There… well there wasn’t much call for different types of tweed in Manchester.” 

She resists the urge to make the caustic comment this invites and says merely “apparently not.” Then, amused despite herself at the way he’s still sprawled on the damp grass “you’ll hear all about it from Bates later, I’m quite sure.”

He nods “you’re right, he’s rather fierce when he wants to be.” 

“I was surprised you hired a valet at all to be quite honest.”

“I wasn’t going to, but then I got here, and I felt so out of my depth, and Bates… he helps.”

“When you let him,” Mary adds, sending him a lightly reproving glance. He really does look uncomfortable. The day is cool, but the material he’s clothed in is thick, more suited to standing still amongst the heather than to a brisk uphill climb. 

“Indeed” Matthew owns, smiling at her softly. 

Then, clambering to his feet “Mary, why did you bring me up here? Or was it merely to watch me boil?” 

“Entertaining as it’s been, no. This is the clearest view of the estate. It’s where I come when I want to make sense of it all, get perspective.” 

“Did you come up here with Patrick?” he asks glibly, clearly not realising that this is a sore topic.

Mary feels her face fall, disturbed as she is by the invocation of her previous fiancé.

To her surprise, he quickly notices that something is wrong. “I’ve made you angry, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” 

She sighs. This isn’t his fault, not really. “My life makes me angry, not you.”

He tilts his head at her, wishing for a longer explanation. “Your life isn’t proving satisfactory?”

“Women like me don’t have a life. We choose clothes, and pay calls, and work for charity, and do the season. But really, we’re stuck in a waiting room, until we marry. Heartless as it sounds, my parents death saved me from that, at least for a time.”

“And if you want to keep it, to stay here, you have to marry me?” 

“That’s not how I would have put it, but yes.” 

“How bitterly you must resent me, getting all this, just because I happen to be male, I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t resent you, though I can’t say I haven’t tried.” Then, softly she adds “I tried, but it was no use.”

He gazes down at her, moving closer to her as he asks, “do you really mean that?” 

“I do” she surprises herself by replying, realising in the moment that she could never truly hate or resent him, not now. Then, alarmed by the look she can see in his eyes, and her own feelings, she adds “you’re so obviously out of your depth, one can hardly envy you.”

He rolls his eyes at her, pulling away. Still, she’s sure he could tell that her words didn’t have their usual bite, that she doesn’t mean them. Not truly. 

. . . 

Turning away from Mary, frustrated by her latest flippant comment, he realises that he really is beginning to understand her. Oh, she’s still frustrating, seeming to blow hot and cold at a moment's notice where he’s concerned, but he thinks he begins to see how she ticks. She likes to think herself grand and aloof, but deep down, hidden beneath her society manners and polish, she cares very deeply, feels very deeply. 

Most of the time she prevents this from showing through, but sometimes, as in the moment they’d just shared, she fails, and he gets a glimpse of the real her behind the facade. Irritating as this can be, Matthew finds more and more that he’s trying to bring out that part of her, show her that she doesn’t have to put up a front around him. Of course, it’s a dangerous game, a furious Mary is a terrifying prospect indeed, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. 

Turning around to look away from the park and towards farmland, he finds himself agreeing that this is the perfect place to come if you feel the need for perspective. Watching much of the farmland roll out in front of him, Matthew can see even more clearly that the changes he wants to propose are necessary. He just wishes he could foresee how Mary is going to react to his suggestions. 

“Mary”, he starts carefully, watching as she turns towards him “have you ever thought about changing the way we manage the farms?” 

She raises her eyebrows, looking at him shrewdly. “What is wrong with how we manage them now?”

“Well,” he starts, “while the estate has plenty of capital, it’s leaking out, we don't turn a profit. Many of the farms have been left entirely to their own devices and haven’t been farmed properly for fifteen years! They struggle to pay the rent, which is too low anyway.”

He pauses then, glancing over at her to see how she’s taking this, half expecting her to look furious. When he sees that she merely looks thoughtful, he continues.

“There’s been… no investment.”

She looks at him for a long moment. “I see.”

“Do you?” he asks, suspecting that she merely wants to change the subject. 

“Yes, I do.” She sighs. “Actually, I brought up the subject of the rents with Jarvis, but he protested that it would mean evicting loyal tenants, so I let it drop.”

Now, Matthew is really feeling the first twinges of excitement. Despite her grasp on estate matters, he hadn’t expected that she’d accept the existence of this particular problem easily, coming as it does from her Papa’s management of the estate. 

“But you see, I don’t think it would. You’ve started renovating the estate cottages already, and it would be far cheaper to simply give them a free cottage, while finding new younger tenants for those farms, or even better farming them ourselves.” 

“Ourselves? That’s rather drastic don’t you think? You’ve said yourself that there’s no lack of capital.” 

He nods, this is correct. Cora’s fortune, even twenty years later, is still vast. It has succeeded in securing Downton, at least for their generation. 

“There isn’t, but if we could make the estate more efficient, even perhaps self-sufficient, then we’d never have to worry about your Mama’s fortune running dry, we could make Downton safe, for generations to come.”

“You have thought this through” she says slowly, then pointedly “how long have you been keeping this quiet?” 

He can feel himself blushing, impressed as ever by her capacity to read him. “It first occurred to me when Jarvis sent over the books, but touring the farms with you made it even more evident.” 

Her mouth quirks in what looks suspiciously like amusement “You mean to say all this time I’ve been aiding a revolutionary?” 

He smiles at this “aiding a revolutionary who wants to keep your ancestral home in the hands of the aristocracy, yes.” Then, “so, what do you think?” 

She sighs, gazing around at the landscape. “I think that I like the idea of Downton being secure. Papa always said that we’re merely the custodians, not the owners.” 

Matthew is well aware that his face lights up at this, but he cannot bring himself to care, childishly pleased at gaining even a modicum of approval from her. Still, he senses there is more she’s not saying.

“But?” he asks.

“But, Jarvis will never agree to taking over the farms. He’ll say that Papa would have been horrified at the idea, that we’ve always worked _with_ the tenants.”

Matthew nods, this is what he’d feared she might say. “And would he have been horrified?” 

Mary tilts her head to one side, clearly thinking. “I think you’d have convinced him, in time, though I rather think he would have looked for alternatives while there was still so much capital.”

“And you? Whose side are you on?”

She looks at him, and her face is unreadable. “I am his daughter, and I did… I do love him…” here she trails off. 

“But you’ve seen it yourself, I know you have.”

She nods “I have.”

“And so?” 

He watches with bated breath as Mary looks at the farmland before them, looks back at the house, and then turns her eyes to him. 

“I think… I’m on your side.” she says finally, the look in her eyes soft as she gazes at him. 

Hearing this Matthew can’t help himself, and he bursts out into a beaming smile, running his hand through his hair, as he always does when overwhelmed. 

At this moment, as earlier, Matthew gets the feeling that he’s broken down an important barrier, that even though the topic is something as mundane as the farms, this is important, that she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable. He thinks, for the first time really, that there’s a possibility he may mean something to her one day.

Content for now to simply revel in the fact that he’s managed this much, he wisely decides not to push it, instead simply allowing her to lead him further up the hill, towards the boundary between the park and the nearest farm. 

Mary, his _fiancé_ , certainly is full of surprises. 

**. . .**

**October 1912, a note from Lady Mary Crawley to Mrs. Isobel Crawley**

Dear Isobel, 

I would be delighted to have tea with you tomorrow afternoon, my thanks for your offer. I will see you at three. 

Yours cordially, 

Mary

**October 1912, an excerpt from a letter between the Dowager Countess of Grantham and Lady Rosamund Painswick**

My dear, you must not meddle in this engagement, it’s the best offer she’s ever likely to get now that her parents are departed, and I think in time they could be well suited. He’s quite the rough diamond, but then I would have said that about Marmaduke when you were first married and he learns quickly. 

Now, please pick a week this winter to come up here. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I find myself quite missing dear Cora’s company. I’ve been largely left to the tender mercies of Edith and Mrs Crawley lately; your company would be quite welcome.

**November 1912, excerpt from a letter between Lady Mary Crawley and Lady Rosamund Painswick**

I’m glad you approve, and you’re quite right, it is very neat and tidy. Plus, I think in time we’ll get on, and he’s permitting me to continue helping with the estate. I believe it could be a good deal worse. 

Yes, of course we’ll send down a parcel to you, I’ll get them to let Mede know which train it will be on, it will be with you within the week. 

**December 1912, an excerpt from a letter between Lady Sybil Crawley and The Hon. Vivienne MacDonald**

Oh, Vivienne, I do envy you! Having something to occupy your mind all day, a purpose. Mary is rather distracted and I’m allowed free reign of the library now, but I still feel so shut up, so cut off from real life. I’m almost longing for my season to come at last, at least then I’ll have a chance of more varied conversation, even if it is across a ballroom.

Please write to me all about your studies, I’m simply dying to try for university myself, but I do not believe they’d consider it for a moment. I shall have to live vicariously through you my dear.

I did as you suggested and looked into the local WSPU chapter in Ripon, but I dare not even suggest it to Granny or Mary, I just know they wouldn’t approve. Please send me more of those pamphlets however, they were quite illuminating! 

**January 1913, an excerpt from a letter between Lady Edith Crawley and Sir Anthony Strallen**

It was so nice to run into you in Ripon the other day, I found what you mentioned about your new methods of crop rotation to be so interesting.

I’d certainly love to join you for a drive if you’re ever passing through this way again! Granny sends her regards to you, she says she quite misses the evenings she used to spend at Locksleigh with your father. 

**February 1913, A letter from Mr Charles Carson, Butler at Downton Abbey, to Mr Tom Branson**

Dear Mr Branson, 

Further to your recent interview, Lord Grantham has permitted me to extend an offer of employment as chauffeur to you, commencing in May 1913. Please send us your answer at your earliest convenience. 

Yours sincerely, 

Mr Carson

**February 1913, an excerpt from a letter between Lady Mary Crawley and Evelyn Napier**

Thank you for your kind letter, it is so lovely to hear that we’re in the thoughts of any of our old circle, especially those of such a dear friend. 

The new Lord Grantham is not what I expected, and he’s settled in surprisingly well. My Grandmother is still living with us, so I can assure you that all is quite proper. It seems perhaps he’s not the sea monster I suggested he was in my last letter.

In fact, we’re holding a dinner next month, as I’m sure you know the York and Ainsty are meeting here during the day, and we want to introduce Matthew to some of the county. It will mostly be a rather dull collection of local landowners, so we’d be delighted if you were to join us!

You could even bring that Mr Pamuk you wrote of, we could do with a little livening up after this dreadful winter. The only person we’ve seen outside of the household has been my Aunt Rosamund, we’re quite ready to brush off the dust and entertain once more.

**February 1913, an excerpt from a letter between Lady Sybil Crawley and The Hon. Vivienne MacDonald.**

I appreciate your kind offer, and I yearn to come to London and meet your friends, the meetings you wrote about sound quite intriguing! Unfortunately, I cannot come, I mentioned it to Mary, and she gave me a look that could have turned me to stone if only she had the power. She reminds me that I’m not yet ‘out’ and I suppose she has a point.

However, we’re holding a dinner after the York and Ainsty meet here next month, and I’m quite sure Mary and Granny would not mind if you came to stay, please say you will? You wouldn’t be expected to follow the hunt, only Mary will do that I think, but it would be lovely to see you. 

**March 1913, an excerpt from a letter between Mr Evelyn Napier and Lady Mary Crawley**

They’re sending the horses over from the house, but we’re coming up on the train that morning, so your offer of a place to change is very welcome, I do hope that you’re riding out with us? I remember how well you rode at Haxby the last time I saw you.

Mr Pamuk is very much looking forward to experiencing life in a proper English country house, our thanks again for extending the invite to include him. He’s rather important to the Albanian talks, so this could make all the difference! Plus, he rather livens up any party, so I think you’ll be rather pleased to make his acquaintance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, the plot proper is getting going! For the moment I’ll be sticking to my Wednesday/Saturday schedule (or Tuesday/Friday if you’re in a time zone behind mine, since I usually upload around midnight UK time). However, work is very busy, so there’s a possibility it will drop to once a week when I run out of pre-written content (I have another five chapters already written). 
> 
> Before I say anything else, since I've had a couple of comments about this I want to clarify that while Pamuk *will* appear in this fic, my treatment of this will *not* be the same as on the show. I'm writing it into my fic partially because I've been annoyed with how Julian Fellowes dealt with it for a decade now! 
> 
> Vivienne MacDonald isn’t quite an OC, Sybil mentions that she’s studying for the bar when they’re discussing Matthew’s profession in episode two. Of course, I rather suspect that it was Vivian MacDonald, and therefore a man. In fact, Mary’s comment that he’s studying at Lincoln’s Inn confirms that, since women weren’t admitted to the Inns of Court until 1919.
> 
> However, I’ve taken a little artistic license here. I wanted Sybil to have a friend who is her contact in the wider world, especially in suffragette circles. Vivienne fit that purpose nicely. 
> 
> The first women weren’t admitted to the bar until 1922, but there were women studying for and receiving law degrees in the UK as early as 1888. Vivienne couldn’t yet be a barrister, but she certainly could have been the early female solicitor I have her on the path to being here. In the UK barristers and solicitors are separate things, your ordinary solicitor (like Matthew) does not have to pass the bar. I explain this since I know it’s different in the US!


	7. Chapter Seven, March 1913

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned to link Florence + The Machine song to each chapter, but I forgot to do it entirely until now! I've added one to each of the previous chapters. 
> 
> This chapter's song is 'Lover to Lover' from Ceremonials. The lyrics of this song are less important than the general vibe.

**Chapter Seven, March 1913**

Mary stands in the dining room with her grandmother, drawing up the seating charts for the upcoming dinner.

“So we can put Evelyn next to Sybil?” she asks. 

“Yes, I think that would suit, she is not yet out but he’s a family friend and a good man, it should be appropriate enough.” At this, she turns her eyes to Mary.

“Are you sure it’s wise, inviting him to the dinner? You know he’s always had eyes for you, and with you and Matthew having your understanding, getting on so well recently…” 

“What are you suggesting?” 

Mary watches a disbelieving look come onto her Grandmother’s face. “I know you think him uninterested in you in that way my dear, but he’s still a man, and well, you have been known to flirt.”

“You think he’d be jealous?” Mary asks incredulously, unable to think of Matthew being capable of such a thing. “That is not how we are together. It’s an alliance, not a love match. Besides, we’re going to announce the engagement at dinner, Evelyn will get the idea.”

Her grandmother does not look convinced. “Still, it would not do to provoke either of them too much.”

Mary nods, conceding the point. Matthew might not be in love with her, but she supposes her Grandmother is right. “Perhaps not. Very well, put Mr Pamuk next to me, Evelyn is kind about him, but he’s bound to be a funny little foreigner with a wide, toothy grin and hair reeking with pomade. That shouldn’t give Matthew much to worry about.”

Her grandmother nods her approval of this plan.“What of the ladies, who else is coming besides the four of us and Isobel?” 

Mary sighs to herself, not enough of the wives are staying, and the numbers are irritating. She doesn’t know how her Mother had coped with all of this so well, she finds it far more trying than estate matters. “it’s rather dire I”m afraid, not balanced at all. Vivienne MacDonald is staying, she’s a friend of Sybil’s, but that’s it.”

“Viscount Russack’s daughter? The one taking a law degree?” 

“That’s the one.”

Granny looks rather disapproving “I just hope she doesn’t give Sybil any ideas. A woman! Studying law!” 

Mary rolls her eyes, well aware that Sybil can think for herself. “Sybil already _has_ ideas, you know that.” Then, an idea comes to her, “besides, maybe Sybil and Evelyn will hit it off. I'll put Matthew on her other side, make sure everything’s quite proper.” 

Yes, Mary thinks to herself, that could be a good match. Then she’d still see something of Evelyn from time to time, and Sybil would be secure and nearby.

Her grandmother sighs, “she really must be presented next year, the sooner she’s settled the better, it’s such a pity she isn’t eighteen until August.” 

“And what of dear Edith?” Mary asks, unable to keep the derision out of her voice. 

Her grandmother frowns disapprovingly but carries on.

“That’s a harder question. Sir Anthony Strallen is interested it seems, but he’s twice her age.”

Involuntarily, Mary makes a face ‘He’s also as dull as ditchwater.” Then, unable to help herself “but then so is she, so maybe it’s no matter.”

“Mary!’ her grandmother admonishes sharply. 

“I know, I know. It’s just almost habit at this point.”

‘Still. You are sisters, you must at least pretend to care for each other.”

Mary nods. “I know, and I do, really. She’s just… so infuriating.” 

“She’d say quite the same about you, you know,” says a new voice, and Mary turns to see Matthew behind her. 

She frowns at him, amused but not willing to show it. “I do”. 

“Do you have a moment?” he asks, “I’d like to go through the hunt procedures one more time before tomorrow.”

She sighs, thinking to herself that she’d never expected to have to explain such things to her future husband. Thank goodness he can already ride. “Yes, though you’ll be fine you know, we’re going to put a red ribbon on Ammon’s tail, no one will wonder why you’re at the back of the field.”

“And I appreciate that, but I’d also rather not embarrass you, either of you,” Matthew says, gesturing to Violet. 

“I’m quite immune to embarrassment these days,” says her grandmother “but perhaps Mary should take you through it one last time, I’ll leave you”. 

With that, Mary watches her leave the room, and she’s left alone with her… fiancé. 

He turns to her, his face clear of any design “So, shall we?”

. . .

From her vantage point on Diamond’s back, Mary observes Matthew’s efforts to seem at ease during the melee of horses and hounds that marks the start of a hunt. 

He’s not a bad rider, his posture is good, and he commands the horse well. He still lacks the sense of ease radiating from those around him, from those who have been brought up with all this, and see it as their right. However, it’s much less noticeable than it would have been a few months ago. 

He’s been an attentive, if slightly over-eager, student over the past weeks, clearly making a considerable effort to not show how ridiculous and nonsensical he thinks some of the rules of the hunt are. And, she thinks, he’ll manage to acquit himself fairly well on the whole, especially with Lynch delegated to keep an eye on him. 

At this point, she’s pulled from her considerations of Matthew by the arrival of Evelyn Napier in his pink. Now, she thinks to herself, here’s a man who actually knows what he’s doing. He may not be as attractive as Matthew, but he’s completely at ease and in command, it is clear from his every action that he was born into this life. 

He doffs his hat to her as he speaks “we were fools not to accept your invitation and send the horses down early, as it is, my groom only got here an hour or two ago, and my mount is as jumpy as a deb at her first ball.”

She gives a laugh at this comment, thinking to herself that his horse looks just fine to her, but appreciating his humour all the same. 

“He looks rather like he knows what he’s doing,” Evelyn says, gesturing towards Matthew with his whip. 

Mary shoots him a conspiratorial look “He better do, I’ve been tutoring him for weeks.”

“How very generous.”

She smiles. “Not really, I couldn’t have him disgracing us on his first real contact with county society.”

At this, she sees she’s succeeded in amusing him. “Well, you’ve won I’d say, he looks the part.”

She nods, unable to avoid admiring the way Matthew’s black hunting jacket suits him. Then, horrified at herself she asks “what about Mr Pamuk? I gather if he takes a tumble, you’ll be endangering world peace.”

Evelyn gives her a grin but dismisses her concerns. “Don’t worry about Kamal, he knows what he’s doing on a horse.”

“Well, where is he?” she asks, looking around for him but coming up blank. She does, however, notice Matthew leaning down from his mount to talk to Vivienne MacDonald, Sybil's friend. Sourly she thinks to herself that he looks far more comfortable over there than he does with her. 

Just at that moment, Evelyn says “there he is now!” 

Turning, she sees that the man approaching them is not at all what she’d expected. He’s Matthew’s opposite in every way, dark hair and eyes, and an undeniable swagger that despite herself she finds rather attractive. 

Eyeing Matthew, who is now laughing at something Vivienne MacDonald has said, Mary thinks to herself that she may as well also have fun today. So, when Pamuk rides up and introduces himself she puts on her brightest smile and prepares for a day of lighthearted horseback flirtation. 

. . .

Across the drive, listening to an amusing story from Vivienne MacDonald, who he’s impressed to find is studying law, Matthew still can’t take his eyes off Mary. She’s happily chatting with the man he knows to be Mr Evelyn Napier, as always perfectly poised and at ease in this world.

She looks magnificent on horseback as if she and Diamond are one, and he has to shake himself to take his attention away from her and back to Miss MacDonald. As he does so, he sees her glance over to him and sees a flash of what is unmistakably jealousy momentarily marr her lovely features.

He’s confused to see this, but it gives him further hope that perhaps they might grow something deeper than an alliance between them, that they may come to care for each other. While he thinks jealousy is nonsensical, they’re announcing their engagement this evening, after all, he resolves to find a moment later to reassure her that there is nothing between himself and her sister’s friend. 

And then they’re off, and it’s all Matthew can do to keep his composure as he drives Ammon forward, watching Mary disappear off into the distance with Napier and the man that must be Mr Pamuk. 

. . .

By the end of the hunt, Matthew is so bone tired that it’s all he can do to climb down from his horse unassisted. All thoughts of reassuring Mary before tonight’s dinner disappear from his mind, desperate as he is to seek a hot bath and resign himself to Bates’s preparations for the evening’s dinner.

He had been initially unsure about the idea of a valet, regarding it as an unnecessary waste of his time and money. However, over the past few months, Bates, an old army compatriot of the late Lord Grantham, has proved his worth time and time again. Seeming to grasp how ill at ease Matthew is with many customs and traditions, he’s been patient and accommodating, something that is a rather welcome change from Mary’s rather condescending explanations of their way of life. 

He can tell that she’s genuinely trying to be patient, but it’s still far easier to take instruction from someone who is also an outsider to this life, and understands how nonsensical it seems, than from someone to whom its every intricacy has always been second nature. 

That conclusion reached, after his bath, he waits patiently while Bates selects the appropriate cufflinks, straightens out his tails, and brushes a miniscule piece of lint from his lapel. When he’s finally pronounced presentable, he heads downstairs to face the intimidating dinner ahead. 

Checking the seating chart, he finds he’s in between Sybil and Miss MacDonald and finds himself thinking that this perhaps won’t be so bad after all. He tries to catch Mary’s eye across the drawing-room, hoping to take a moment to clarify how they’re going to make the announcement. To his dismay, he sees she’s surrounded by admirers, chief among them the exotic-looking Mr Pamuk, and before he’s able to seek her out Carson is summoning them into dinner.

. . .

  
  


Seated next to Mr Pamuk, who Mary freely admits is not at all what she’d been expecting, Mary, quite unaccountably, can’t stop thinking about Matthew. She finds she’s rather proud of the way he’d coped today, they’d rather thrown him in the deep end and she’s impressed with the way he’d taken to it. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that he’s going to be a fine Earl, and despite her resentment of the situation she finds herself in, she finds that she thinks he’s a worthy successor to Papa. 

Just as her thoughts reach this, rather affectionate, point, she sees Matthew leaning in to listen to something Vivienne is saying, a soft smile playing over his lips as he does so. Annoyed at herself for being so distracted by him when he clearly has eyes only for the other woman, she turns to Pamuk and picks back up their conversation, smiles her most charming smile, and is rather pleased when he gives her his full attention. Nothing can come of this of course, she’s soon to be engaged, but she finds that she rather enjoys it anyway. 

  
  


. . .

  
  


Unbeknownst to her, across the room, Matthew is watching her once more. Tired from a long day keeping up with the hunt, and frustrated by the attention given to Mary by every other eligible man in the room, he decides to act. 

Knocking his fork against his glass, he calls the conversation around the table to a halt, just missing the warning glare that Violet shoots his way, and the way in which Isobel frowns at her son’s rash actions.

Standing up, he avoids Mary’s eyes, knowing suddenly that she’ll be cross he’s blindsided her with the announcement. Unfortunately, it’s too late to go back now. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. I’m delighted to say that Lady Mary and I are engaged to be married!” 

The table erupts into applause and pleased murmurs, several of the men leaning over to congratulate him personally. Throughout the uproar, Matthew watches Mary nervously. She acts the part of a pleased and happily surprised bride - to - be convincingly, but he can see the anger in her eyes at being blindsided, that he’s reneged on their agreement to do things together and act as allies.

. . .

On the other side of the table, inwardly fuming, sits Mary. She can hardly believe he’d act in such a high-handed manner, making the announcement without so much as warning her first. She should have known that his vow that they’ll be partners and allies was not sincere, that deep down he’s just like all the other men who have sought to possess and control her. 

Still, the thing is done now, and she knows there is a part she’s expected to play. She plasters on a pleased smile and accepts congratulations from all and sundry, everyone keen to tell her how proud her parents would be, and what a brilliant Countess she’s going to make.

As soon as is polite she makes her excuses, feigning a headache after the day’s excitements and heading upstairs. When she reaches her room she finds that she feels unusually sad, not just due to the way the evening had ended, but because she finds herself missing Papa and Mama with a sudden ferocity that almost takes her breath away. 

Logically, she knows that had they not passed away the chances of her now being engaged to Matthew are very low indeed, but she still feels as if there is something important missing, as if they were supposed to be there to congratulate both of them, to welcome Matthew as a future son. Despite the anger she feels regarding how he’d handled things this evening, she finds herself once again certain that they’d sincerely approve of Matthew, arranged marriage or not.

And with that thought, Mary rings for Anna, resolving as she does so to make things right with Matthew in the morning.


	8. Chapter Eight, March 1913 II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: rape.
> 
> This wasn't terribly fun to write and I'm anxious about posting it (sorry!) 
> 
> This chapter's Florence + The Machine song is "Breaking Down" from Ceremonials
> 
> All alone  
> It was always there you see  
> And even on my own  
> It was always standing next to me
> 
> I can see it coming from the edge of the room  
> Creeping in the streetlight  
> Holding my hand in the pale gloom  
> Can you see it coming now?

**Chapter Eight, March 1913 II**

Mary had fallen asleep contentedly, thoughts of Matthew and the promise of their engagement in her mind. The sound of her door clicking shut jerks her awake from her light doze, but the sense of being content lingers, making her slow to react to the sight of Kamal Pamuk standing in her bedroom. 

Coming back to her senses, she leaps from the bed, dragging the coverlet with her, as if it will afford her some measure of protection.

“You must be mad!” she says, hoping he will quickly realise the absurdity of this situation and leave her alone. 

“I’m in the grip of madness” he replies, a dark glint in his eyes.

“Please leave at once, or I’ll…” here, Mary trails off, knowing that she’s in an impossible situation. If she screams, she’ll be ruined just as completely as if she does not.

Unfortunately for her, Pamuk also seems to recognise this “Or you’ll what?” he asks mockingly. 

“I’ll scream”.

He smirks at her and crosses the room “no, you won’t.”

Another idea occurs to Mary, Anna! Anna may still be awake “I’ll ring the bell then!”

“And who’s on duty now? The hall boy? Would you really let him find a man in your bedroom? What a story.”

Damn him, Mary thinks, he’s right. It’s far too late for anyone sympathetic to come to her aid. Even if they intervened, the story would still exist, she’d still have no way of ensuring it stayed quiet, no way of knowing what version of it would be told. 

Realising this, she turns back to trying to convince him that this is madness, to back off. She knows she can’t fight him, that he is too strong for her to resist physically, but perhaps she can prevail on his limited sense of honour. 

“Do you even know what you’re asking? I’m engaged to be married! I’d be ruined if anyone even knew we’d had this conversation, let alone if…” 

“What? Don’t worry, your oh - so - respectable fiance never has to know. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“You and my sister Edith have something in common” Mary replies, knowing this comparison is unfair, but hoping that a mention of her family might diminish his enthusiasm. 

“Oh?” he asks, an amused glint in his eye. 

“You think me far less honourable than I actually am. Now, please go” Mary says, entreating him for the third time to do the right thing. At this, he only moves closer to her, taking one of her wrists in his hand. 

Terrified now by the fact that he’s ignored multiple requests to leave her be, and by the strength of his grip on her, she tries again, thinking to herself what a fool she’d been to flirt with him, however angry she’d been at Matthew. She’d seen it only as fun, and hadn’t really considered that there are those out there that would take it as an invitation. 

“I’m not what you think I am. It’s my mistake, I led you on earlier because I was angry at Matthew, but… I’m not.”

“You are just what I think you are”

“No, I’ve never done anything,” Mary protests, hoping against all reasonable expectation that he’ll finally get the message and leave. Unfortunately for her, he does not.

“Of course not, one look at you would tell me that” he says, pushing her back onto the bed. 

She can feel the strength in his arms, and knows at this point that what is about to happen is inevitable. She can’t push him off, and if she were to scream now she’d be ruined forever. It would be her word against his, and there’s no guarantee of who would find them, of what they would say. Thinking of her sisters, of her late parents, she knows she can’t allow that to happen.

“Oh, my darling, trust me” Kamal says, looking at her with eyes that clearly expect her to have been seduced, to have given in by this point. 

Of course, she thinks bitterly, she has given in, just not in the way he thinks. Retreating inside her own mind, fixing her thoughts on something pleasant and far away, Mary ceases her struggles, hoping desperately that this will make it easier, less painful. 

As he continues, she feels rather numb, distant, as if she’s watching what’s happening to her from some great height, unable to comprehend it or intervene in any way. She finds herself simply thinking that soon it will be over, soon he’ll be satisfied and leave her be. He’ll go back to Turkey and no one ever has to know. 

Then, he finishes, rolling himself off her. He’s just turning to say something to her when he’s seized by a series of convulsions, and suddenly collapses onto his back, his face blank. 

For a moment, she simply sits there, stunned by the turn of events. Gingerly, she reaches out to feel for his pulse, revulsed at the idea of touching him again, and finds…. Nothing. The life has drained from him, all his youthful vigour and energy gone. He’s dead. 

. . . 

The first thing she feels is relief. Now, her secret will be truly safe, there will be no risk of him spreading it, no opportunity for him to do this to any other woman. Then, she realises that she’s doomed, Pamuk was a strong, well built man in life, and in death he’s no different, will be a tremendous dead weight. There’s no way she’ll be able to move him herself, let alone all the way back to the bachelor’s corridor. 

That conclusion reached, she acts, heading to wake the one person who she knows always has her back, and despite the horror will always be discrete. Anna. She moves quickly up the stairs to the maid’s bedroom, and careful not to wake Gwen, extracts her maid from the room.

“Pamuk… Pamuk came to my room… and now… and now he’s” here she breaks off, taking a moment to compose herself. “He’s dead, I think he’s dead. No, I’m sure he’s dead” 

Anna stares at her in shock ‘But how? Wh..” 

“He came to my room, and now… he’s dead” 

“In your room?” Anna asks, sounding more than a little scandalised.

At this, Mary can barely hold back her tears, the enormity of the night’s events beginning to hit her now that the shock has worn off. 

Anna clearly recognises the distress in her face, and takes charge. “We’ve got to get him back to his own bed.” 

Mary nods, “but how? It’s in the bachelor’s corridor, miles from my room.”

“Well, could we manage it between us?”

“He weighs a ton, I can hardly shift him at all. We’ll need at least one other. What about Bates?” Mary asks, running through the list of household men in her head, searching for one with compassion. 

“He couldn’t lift him” Anna replies, clearly doing much the same “William can’t keep a secret and Thomas wouldn’t try.”

Mary recognises that this is true, but doesn’t see what else they’re supposed to do. ‘We’ve got to do something!”

Anna sighs, and Mary can see her thinking. “Then who else can you trust, who else would be hurt if this got out?” 

At this, Mary gasps “Not Matthew! Please don’t say Matthew, he’d… he’d despise me.”

Anna shakes her head quickly. “No, not his Lordship. What about Lady Sybil?” 

Staring at her maid aghast, thinking of her so sweet sister, Mary slowly realises that she’s right. Sybil is really the only person left in the house who Mary can trust to keep the secret, and to not judge her too harshly for it. 

Nodding, she leads them out of the servant’s quarters and towards Sybil’s room. 

Sybil, when they wake her and explain the predicament is surprisingly stoic. Mary had expected her to be far more shocked by her admission, but when she explains what’s happened she finds instead that her baby sister merely eyes her thoughtfully, as if questioning some part of her story. 

She quickly takes charge, and between them they haul Pamuk back to his bed, arranging him in it so it looks as if he never left, before exiting the room together. Anna disappears off to her room, reassuring them that she will keep the secret as she does so. To her surprise Mary finds Sybil leading her to her own bedroom, down the hall from Mary’s, at the end of the corridor and furthest away from the rest of the house. 

Mary lets herself be taken to the armchair in the corner of the room and settles down in it. For a moment, Sybil merely stares at her silently, and Mary is glad of the reprieve, of the opportunity to gather her wits. 

Then, softly, Sybil states plainly “Mary, I know you didn’t ask him to your room. I know you, you wouldn’t do that, not after what you’d promised Matthew.” 

Mary pauses and taken aback by this, gives into her natural impulse to push people away “How do you know that? I was terribly cross at him, after that stunt he pulled at dinner.”

Her sister sighs exasperatedly “I’m your sister! I don’t think the worst of you automatically!” “Besides”, she says meaningfully “I know you.” 

She sighs to herself. “I’m sorry darling, that was unfair. But you’re quite wrong, I may not have invited him, but I didn’t stop him, I...I... gave in” Here, she nearly collapses into tears, thinking of her shame “I’m ruined Sybil!” 

Her sister’s normally serene eyes flash with anger at this “Men don’t have the power to ruin us Mary!” Then, relenting a little “at least they shouldn’t.”

Mary stares at her blankly, wishing desperately that this were true, but knowing that it isn’t. “I begged him to leave, asked him to stop, threatened to scream, but that doesn’t change the fact that in the end I gave in… I let him…”

This incenses her sister like nothing Mary has seen before. “Then he… he raped you Mary! You can’t hold yourself responsible for that! You begged him to leave, and he carried on anyway?” 

Mary shakes her head. “I...I couldn’t have fought him off. So I gave in, I let him do it.”

Sybil rolls her eyes. “You gave in rather than entering a physical fight you’ve said yourself you had no hope of winning, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

Unwilling to admit to seeing sense in what her sister is saying, Mary bursts out “But don’t you see? I flirted with him because I was angry with Matthew, I.. I led him on, let him think things tha”

Here, she’s cut off by Sybil once more “That is ridiculous! So you flirted with him? Had you danced naked in front of him on the dinner table that wouldn’t justify what he did!”

At this, Mary blushes violently. “Sybil!” Then sighing “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Sybil is unrelenting. “I certainly don’t understand why you’d blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault at all. For the flirting, perhaps. For this, no. ” 

Mary thinks to herself that she wishes she felt it was as simple as Sybil seems to find it, wishes she could absolve herself of her actions as easily as her sister does. Overcome by the evening’s events, tired and overwrought, she can give this no more thought, instead giving into the wave of despair coursing through her and beginning to quietly, even in her despair conscious of where they are, how late it is, what is at stake.

Instantly, Sybil is by her side, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, and stroking her back gently. Usually, this role reversal would seem odd, but Mary’s too far gone to care and instead simply allows Sybil to comfort her, relaxing into her sister’s arms.

Finally, after several long minutes have passed, the tears seem to have run their course, and she’s able to collect herself once more. Sybil releases her hold on her shoulders and returns to her own seat, settling herself down with a thoughtful look on her face.

Unwilling to carry this conversation much further, wishing to leave before Sybil makes her think too deeply about her own convictions, Mary rises from her chair and makes to leave. 

“Thank you darling, for always being so sweet.”

Sybil smiles back at her but says in a soft tone, “don’t think we’re finished here Mary, I won’t have you ruin your own life because of this.”

Mary smiles sadly at her younger sister, wishing she had a little more of Sybil’s fire and conviction “I know darling, and don’t worry. I don’t think myself blameless, but I won’t throw Matthew over, won’t hurt you and Edith like that”

Sybil fixes her with a glare “as if that’s what I’m worried about.” Then, an idea clearly occurring to her, “will you tell him?”

Mary sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t know how he could ever forgive me.”

“I believe he’d forgive you in a heartbeat if you told him the truth.”

“What you think the truth is,” Mary says, fixing her sister with an exasperated look. 

Sybil simply lifts her chin, and as Mary slips from the room in search of her own bed says simply, “the truth.” 

Lying awake in bed, unable to forget about what had happened in the room only recently, Mary turns Sybil’s words over in her mind again and again. Could it really be so simple? Does she only bear shame for her flirtation, and not for the evening’s carnal end? She’s not sure. All she knows is that unless she changes her mind dramatically about how she views the night’s events, Matthew can never know. Too much is at stake here for her shame to drive him away. 

. . . 

Sybil rises early the next morning, lingering in the entrance hall so that she’s able to swiftly intercept a shocked looking Thomas. She quickly takes charge of events, seeking to spare Mary from facing the aftermath of the previous evening. 

Evelyn, when roused, is the picture of grace and nobility. He makes all the arrangements with Graspy's, and assures her that he’ll deal with the Turkish embassy, that they won’t be bothered any further. He even gives an upset Vivienne a lift to the station, promising to escort her safely back to London. 

After they've departed, Sybil retreats to the dining room, trying to focus on her meal, while unable to take her mind away from Mary, what she must be feeling.

To her surprise, before she’s been at breakfast for ten minutes, Mary enters and sits down next to her at the dining table, eyes rather red but otherwise looking surprisingly collected. Sybil supposes that Mary’s lifetime of practice hiding her feelings is about to come in handy, however bitterly she might wish otherwise. 

They’re silent, Sybil wisely resisting the urge to engage her in conversation, until Matthew enters. He stops in the doorway and takes in the two of them, then sighs. 

“Bates just told me what happened. He seemed so healthy yesterday, I can hardly believe it.”

He’s looking at Mary, but she’s staring into space as if she hasn’t noticed his entrance at all, so Sybil speaks up. 

“The coroner said he had a heart arrhythmia, that it could have happened at any time”

Matthew pauses, taking this in. “Is he…” he trails off, but Sybil knows what he’s asking. 

“Yes, Evelyn made all the arrangements before he and Vivienne left for the train.”

He nods, and sits down slowly opposite Mary, looking at her with deep concern on his face. 

Quickly, jerkily, Mary rises to her feet, “please excuse me, I’ve rather a headache” she murmurs, before moving swiftly from the room, almost barging into Edith as she leaves.

Matthew gazes after her, then turns to Sybil. “Is she quite well?” he asks 

Sybil sighs. No, she thinks, she isn’t. But, she knows more definitively than she’s ever known anything that Mary would just about murder her if she explained to Matthew why. 

“She’s just had a shock, she’ll come around. Mary’s strong.” 

Matthew nods, still looking concerned, but clearly thinking he understands. “That she is.” Then frowning, “I’ll go check on her later, make sure she’s recovered”

Sybil smiles at his concern, but knows Mary won’t want too much attention today “she’ll be alright, I imagine she’ll just want to rest.” 

Matthew looks a little more resigned to this and nods, then commences staring into the middle distance in much the same way Mary had earlier. Part of Sybil is glad to see this, to see how much he cares for her. However, she knows this is only going to make it harder for Mary going forward. 

At this point Edith sits down with a plate of toast, and Sybil thinks that she really must steer the conversation away from Mary. Mary would hate for Edith to know about this, and her sister is more curious than most. 

This in mind, she turns to Edith and asks ‘What are you doing this morning? Is it today Sir Anthony is coming to fetch you?” 

Edith blushes slightly but replies happily “yes, he’s taking me for a drive, I’m quite looking forward to it.” 

Sybil nods, returning her interest to her plate. However, she can’t help feeling glad, even in this hideous time, that one of them is happy, blissfully unaware of the full magnitude of what occurred. For Mary’s sake, and by extension hers, she hopes it stays this way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A (quite long) A/N on this chapter, you don't need to read it to understand anything in the fic, but there are a few things I wanted to clarify:
> 
> I first watched this episode in 2010, when I was thirteen. Back then, I did not see the Mary/Pamuk scene as rape. I, as Cora and Mary do in canon, went along with the narrative that in the end their sexual encounter is consensual since she eventually gives in. However. In subsequent rewatches, mostly recently in my mid twenties prior to writing this, it’s become my opinion that this isn’t consensual sex. I’ve found it increasingly hard to see it as anything other than rape.
> 
> We know now, that consent must be enthusiastic and freely communicated. That’s not what we see in this scene, either in my version or the ‘canon’ version. Mary asks Pamuk several times to leave, and she threatens to scream. Only when he demonstrates that she’d be ruined if she screamed, and that he has no intention of leaving, does she ‘give in’. Coerced consent is not consent. 
> 
> A key line from RAINN on the definition of consent that I think is relevant here is: “If someone agrees to an activity under pressure of intimidation or threat, that isn’t considered consent because it was not given freely.”
> 
> I was very tempted to ‘butterfly’ Pamuk away, but I felt the need to write my own version of this, to show this scene as I view it. Mary doesn’t ‘take a lover’ she’s coerced into sex. For the same reason I’ve not changed too much about how the scene actually happens, as I want to show how nonconsensual it really is. Some of the dialogue and the eventual reactions you’ll see are different, but what Pamuk does to her is essentially the same. 
> 
> Now, I fully understand that *at the time*, this would not have been seen as rape, and that’s the view Mary takes in this chapter. However, it’s important to me that this isn’t how it ends, so I’ve given Mary a Sybil who is more enlightened, who has been reading feminist/suffragist literature and sees clearly that this encounter was not Mary’s fault. 
> 
> I think without this intervention Mary would continue to believe that she’d asked for it, and convince herself that it was something she wanted, which is what we see in the show. However, it won’t be the line I take here, and I hope you enjoy where I go with it in the end. 
> 
> I completely understand if you disagree with my interpretation of events, but I personally can never view this scene as consensual. I also know a few of you wwere hoping that I’d leave out Pamuk, so my apologies! I hope you continue to enjoy the fic anyway, there are good things coming for our characters. It’s not going to be plain sailing for Mary, but she’s going to find her happines :)
> 
> It’s going to be a three chapter week since I’ve dropped such an angsty chapter on you, look for the next one on Thursday!


	9. Chapter Nine, May 1913

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In contrast to the last chapter, I loved writing this one. 
> 
> A moodboard for the fic is available on my tumblr, I had fun with it so may make more! 
> 
> https://tinyurl.com/vm7vb4ud
> 
> The Florence + The Machine song for this chapter is 'Hiding', which was a bonus track on How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.  
>    
> I know that you're hiding  
> I know there's a part of you that I just cannot reach  
> You don't have to let me in  
> Just know that I'm still here  
> I'm ready for you whenever  
> Whenever you need  
> Whenever you want to begin
> 
> I know I seem shaky  
> This hand's not fit for holding  
> But if you let me, oh  
> I will see you right

**Chapter Nine, May 1913**

_“In this age, the mere example of non-conformity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a service. Precisely because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break through that tyranny, that people should be eccentric.”_

Sitting comfortably in the library, Matthew is taking a rare moment to leaf through the late earl’s collection and reacquaint himself with some old favourites. He had spotted Sybil perusing this particular volume, and hadn’t been able to resist rereading it. He finds comfort in John Stuart Mill’s words, feeling as if they vindicate some of what he’s been thinking about lately. 

With Mary’s help he’s slowly begun to feel more at home in his new position, but there are elements, mostly connected with the way the estate is run, that he still feels are nonsensical. He doesn’t want to kick at the traces too much, but he feels a strong need to be his own man, to follow his conscience and common sense on certain matters, even if it means being seen as eccentric. 

Mary might claim to be on his side regarding the farms, understanding that the proposed changes are right for the estate, but he can tell she’s still uneasy, not fully comfortable letting go of the way her father ran it for so many years. She’s demanded that he bring Jarvis onboard before they start any changes, and it’s proving a herculean task.

Thinking about Mary, he finds himself wishing he understood what has happened between them. They made their peace after his rash announcement of their engagement, and he’d thought that all was well between them. He’d thought that they’d be able to slip back into the easy friendship that had started to form prior to that dinner, the friendship that had held the promise of something more. However, that hasn’t been the case, they seem to have regressed to an earlier and less familiar point.

And, he thinks, it's more complicated than that. It isn’t as if Mary has returned to open hostility, to sniping at him across the dinner table. No, she’s been perfectly pleasant. But it’s as if something has happened that’s created a barrier between them. 

She’s cordial to him, laughs at his jokes, introduces him to friends, but there’s a strange coolness to their interactions that hadn’t been there before. Her smiles don’t reach her eyes, he hasn’t heard her truly laugh in weeks, and sometimes when she thinks no one is watching she seems to slip away from them entirely, lost in some world known only to her. Matthew is just resolving to investigate further, speak to Sybil perhaps, when Carson enters the room. 

“You wanted to see the new chauffeur m’lord.” 

Matthew looks up, remembering suddenly that he had indeed asked to see Branson when he arrived. Hastily he closes _On Liberty_ , shoving it down on the desk in front of him, and turns in his chair. 

Branson is the first person he’s hired, and he finds himself rather eager to meet the first member of the staff to whom he won’t seem an interloper or usurper. They’ve all been nothing but courteous to his face, but he knows certain of their number are none too pleased to find themselves waiting on a middle class man, even if he is now the Earl. 

“Yes, please send him in!” Matthew says, unable to keep a little of his excitement from entering his voice. 

Branson enters the room and stands before him. 

“It’s good to properly meet you,” Matthew says, remembering the man with some pleasure from their initial meeting. He supposes an Irish chauffeur may seem rather daring to some of his new acquaintances, but he’d come highly recommended and Matthew had found himself rather liking the man when he’d met him briefly following his interview. 

Branson nods, his eyes seeming to flick to the book at Matthew’s side as he does so. 

Interesting thinks Matthew, could this be a chauffeur with an interest in political philosophy

“I hope you’re settling in well, that they’ve shown you where to find everything?” he asks, remembering that he has responsibilities to the staff beyond wondering about their reading habits. 

“Certainly m’lord” Branson replies, his Irish brogue strong. 

“Won’t you miss Ireland?” Matthew enquires politely, thinking of the way he himself had missed Manchester at first. 

“Ireland yes, but not the job. The mistress was a nice lady, but she only had one car and she wouldn’t let me drive it over twenty miles an hour, so it was a bit… well, boring, so to speak.”

Despite the role he knows is expected of him, Matthew smiles at this, finding Branson’s forthright manner a welcome change from much of the deference he meets amongst the staff. 

At this juncture, Branson looks around him and gestures to the book laying next to him. 

“You’ve got a wonderful library.”

Matthew nods. “Yes, I’m told it was the third Earl’s pride and joy, I’m trying to acquaint myself with as much of it as I can.” 

Then he pauses, viewing the almost hungry look on Branson’s face as he stares at the books. “If you’d like to borrow some of the books, you’d be very welcome, even between Lady Sybil and I, it isn’t used as much as it should be.”

At this, he sees Branson’s eyes light up, and he suspects that his earlier thoughts about his interests are correct.

“I’d like that very much m’lord” 

“What are your interests?” Matthew asks, finding himself very curious about this man. 

“History and politics” he replies. 

Matthew smiles, realising he may have found another intellectual kindred spirit in this house at last, and wishing fervently that the line between employer and employee was not so strict. “Mine too, I’ve just been reacquainting myself with John Stuart Mill, have you read this?” he asks, indicating _On Liberty_.

Branson nods. “You have surprisingly good taste if it’s not too impertinent to say,” the man replies, in a manner that Matthew finds refreshingly candid. 

“I’m rather a fan of John Stuart Mill” Matthew says, about to further question the man on his thoughts regarding the tome, when Mary enters the room, taking off her gloves as she does so. 

“Ah, Mary, have you met Branson? He’s replacing Taylor.” Matthew says quickly, hoping she hadn’t overheard him being so familiar with the chauffeur. She may have mellowed slightly since he first met her, but she’s still a stickler for doing things ‘properly’.

Mary nods and smiles pleasantly “We’re pleased that you accepted our offer, I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“Branson is going to borrow books from time to time, he has an interest in history and politics” Matthew explains, wishing to explain the end of the conversation she must have been privy to.

Mary purses her lips slightly, and he can tell she doesn’t quite approve, though he’s not sure if it’s the man’s interests or his own actions that have inspired this. Nevertheless, her next words are gracious. “Feel free. There’s a ledger by the window, we all use it, even Lady Sybil.” 

Branson nods and utters his thanks, before nodding to Matthew and following Carson out of the room. 

Mary walks over towards him and takes a seat in one of the armchairs, before saying in a tone that is lightly reproving “So, the chauffeur is political, how novel.”

He moves over to take a seat opposite her, wishing to move the subject on from Branson, and finding himself curious about her own proclivities. 

“Are you at all political?” 

She considers him for a moment and then sighs “Yes, and no. I’m not a reader of philosophy, not like you or Sybil, but I do enjoy a good argument, and politics quite often provides that.” 

Matthew smiles a little at this, knowing all too well that this is true. “Have there been many political arguments in this house?” 

He watches her roll her eyes at him, somehow making the gesture elegant. “When Sybil first discovered philosophy there was barely a mealtime where she and Papa didn’t disagree on some point or other.”

He can believe that, having witnessed first hand the voracious way the youngest Crawley devours books. However, he hasn’t witnessed any fierce debates so far, and wonders at the reason for it. 

“She seems less forthcoming these days.” 

Mary frowns “Yes, truth be told I’m a little worried about her, she’s been rather withdrawn lately, and I get the feeling there’s something she isn’t telling me. I mentioned women’s suffrage last week and she didn’t take the opportunity to debate me, which is quite unlike her.”

Matthew smiles, pleased as always by the way she cares about her sisters, even Edith who he’s already well aware she has a complicated relationship with.

“Perhaps we should introduce her to Branson, give her something to get fired up over again.” 

At this, Mary laughs, clearly seeing this as a ludicrous proposal that he’s suggested only to cheer her up. “I’m not sure we’re quite that desperate. Besides, I think Vivienne MacDonald gives her more than enough inspiration in that direction as it is. Did you know she’s asked me several times if she can go to London to those suffragette rallies?” Here, she pauses, clearly expecting him to find this idea as outlandish as she does. 

When he doesn’t say anything either way, curious to see what she thinks about this, she carries on. “I told her no of course, but I can’t use the excuse that she’s not ‘out’ forever.”

“Do you not support votes for women then?” he asks, keeping his tone light. 

She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow at him “As it happens, I do. But I don’t support Lady Sybil Crawley chaining herself to a fence and being arrested, which I’m quite sure is what would happen if I allowed her to go.”

He smiles, conceding the point “Perhaps that’s wise. But maybe we could find her something less radical, local politics is tame enough. She could be involved there?”

Mary frowns, and he can see that she’s not pleased by his suggestion. “Possibly” she replies “though I won’t have her going to any rallies, and I ask that you’re on my side”. 

She stands to leave, indicating the book beside him “Papa would be quite alarmed enough by what we’ve allowed her to read, let alone by the prospect of her getting involved in politics.”

Matthew nods, the slight disappointment he’d felt at her dismissal of Sybil’s politics diminishing. He sometimes forgets how recent the passing of her parents still is, and he can hardly blame her for clinging somewhat to their wishes, particularly when it comes to her guardianship of Sybil. 

He stands and places a hand on her shoulder “I understand, and I’m always on your side Mary, I hope you know that.” 

She smiles at him, an expression that seems more genuine than any he’s seen from her recently “You know, I think I do.” 

For a moment Matthew feels as if something important is about to happen. He sees a warmth in her eyes that has been missing these past few months and suspects that she feels the frisson between them too. Unfortunately, at this moment she jerks away from him as if burned by his touch. Before he can say anything else, Carson re-enters the room and whatever that moment could have been is over before it ever truly began.

Carson looks as composed as ever, clearly having no idea of what had just almost happened. He says in solemn tones “The Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley are waiting for you in the drawing room my lady.”

“Of course” says Mary, not meeting his eyes, “I’m going upstairs to take off my hat, let them know I’ll be down in a minute.”

Then, without a backward glance to him and with a nod to Carson, she leaves the room, leaving Matthew alone to process what has almost transpired between them.

He finds Mary captivating, but sometimes he wishes she was easier to read, to understand. He knows that they’re building their relationship on friendship and partnership rather than on love, but in the now rare moments like these, when they’re left alone and she lowers her guard, he can’t help thinking that there’s the potential for something more.

In fact, if he’s completely honest with himself, he knows that he hopes for something more, that he’s begun to feel a great deal of affection, perhaps even love, for his future wife. The problem, of course, is that it’s apparent Mary does not feel the same way about him. Her cool demeanour over the past few weeks, the way she’s reluctant to be left completely alone with him, and the way she keeps pulling away from him have made that quite clear.

. . .

As Mary leaves the room in search of Anna and freedom from her hat, her mind is frantically processing what had just almost occurred between her and Matthew

She’s been keeping him at arm's length recently, still too horrified and full of shame about what had occurred between herself and Mr Pamuk to be able to face him honestly and openly. Oh, she’s been polite to him, but she knows that he’s been puzzled by the guarded way she’s behaved recently, the way she’s taken a step back from him, regressing from the easy friendship they’d been developing prior to that night, and the promise of something more.

She has purposefully been avoiding situations where they might be left completely alone, seeking out the company of Sybil and Granny, of Mrs Crawley, even of Edith rather than be left alone with him. Until just then, she hadn’t truly realised why.

She knows now that she’d been scared that a moment like the one in the library would occur, that they’d be left alone and she’d be reminded of the way she had begun to feel about him, the strange feeling that she’d started to experience whenever he looked at her, or touched her. 

She sighs to herself as she walks slowly up the stairs, and thinks bitterly that all that effort is wasted now, that five minutes alone and a few tender words from her fiance have managed to dismantle the wall she’d built up, forcing her to think about her feelings for Matthew again. It feels all the more devastating because she knows nothing can happen between them now, she’s fallen too far, betrayed him too completely. 

While she thinks of him only as her partner and ally, she can just about stomach not telling him about Pamuk, deluding herself that it doesn’t matter, they aren’t together in that way anyway, they don’t have feelings for each other. If she allowed herself to feel unreservedly, to explore how she knows deep down that Matthew Crawley truly makes her feel, then she knows she’d feel as if she had no choice. She’d have to tell him of how she betrayed him and he’d reject her. 

Since she cannot allow that to happen, this is how it has to be. They can be friends, allies and partners even, but she can’t dwell on what else might have been. 

She thinks longingly of Sybil’s impassioned words from that dreadful night, wishing that she could believe them, forgive herself as easily as her baby sister has. But she knows she can’t, that it’s a step too far. No. She gave in, and therefore it’s her shame to bear. All she can do now is ensure it doesn’t hurt anyone else.

. . .

While Mary is occupied entertaining Cousin Isobel and Granny in the drawing room, Sybil takes the opportunity to slip away before she can be enticed into the room. She chooses instead to roam the grounds reading, her favourite pastime of late.

Sybil thinks that she possesses a reasonably keen mind, to the extent that she’s been permitted to test it at any rate. However, reading her copy of one of Emmeline Pankhurst’s most recent speeches _,_ recently smuggled past her sister’s watchful eye in a letter from Vivienne, she finds herself wondering at the mind that wrote such a thing. What would it be like to have such an intellect, to have the courage and conviction to say these things openly, to turn these words into deeds? 

She’s become well acquainted with the novelists and philosophers that fill her late Papa’s extensive library, but this slim pamphlet is a revelation, something made all the more extraordinary to Sybil by the fact that it is the work of a fellow woman.

It’s as if all of Sybil’s frustrations with the exclusion of women from political life have been summed up by the pen of one person, and the call for action that it makes is intoxicating. Sybil knows it is unlikely she’ll be able to take part directly in the struggle. Mary is too protective to even consider allowing her to attend a rally or protest, but by reading these words she feels as if she’s at least a small part of the movement, committed in mind if not in body. 

She wishes she could persuade her sisters to read it, she thinks that they’d be moved by the words, by the way Mrs Pankhurst sets out her argument and makes women’s suffrage seem inevitable. However, she dares not broach the subject with Mary. Her older sister has enough to deal with, and Sybil feels sure that in her present frame of mind the calls to radical action contained within the pamphlet would only alarm her, give her another thing to worry about. 

She’s so engrossed in thought as she walks down the gravel path outside the house, that she isn’t paying attention to where she’s heading. As she passes the entrance to the kitchen courtyard she walks straight into Branson, the new chauffeur, sending him tumbling into a nearby bush. Alarmed, she drops the treasured pamphlet to the ground and hurries over to him, ready to offer a helping hand.

“Are you quite alright?” she asks, “that was dreadfully clumsy of me, I do apologise.”

Branson waves her off, pushing himself off the ground and dusting down his livery, seeming not to be any the worse for wear. She watches him carefully, having had no interaction with the man since his arrival. He glances over at the pamphlet laying in the gravel, and she sees his eyes light up. Before she can reach down to rescue it, he leans over and does so, presenting it to her as he says “you have excellent taste m’lady, this isn’t a topic I’d expect to be covered by His Lordship’s library.” 

Sybil blushes “I’m afraid I rather smuggled it in” then, alarmed she adds “you mustn't give me away to my sister, Lady Mary I mean, I don’t think she’d approve.”

Branson smiles down at her, looking very amused. “I won’t, though in return I’d be interested to hear what you make of it.” 

Taken aback by this request, Sybil can do little but nod her agreement, finding that she’d be rather glad to discuss the subject with him, however unusual the idea is. At this, he doffs his cap at her and heads towards the garage. 

She’s eternally grateful that he doesn’t turn around as he does so, for he would have seen her still staring after him, rather intrigued by her new acquaintance. To her embarrassment it’s several long moments before she’s able to collect herself and head back to the house, thinking of sandy hair and strong-looking hands as she does so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> A quick clarification: I do not believe that Mary was at fault, or that she consented to Pamuk.
> 
> A couple of people have let me know that they still see consensual sex in the previous chapter. I can see that there’s possibly some ambiguity with the way it’s presented on the show, but I really don’t see that ambiguity in the previous chapter at all, that isn’t where I’m going to take this.
> 
> Mary, coming from 1912, doesn’t yet see what happened as non consensual, she’s also still reeling from the shock and not thinking clearly about it. Hence her reflections in this chapter 
> 
> Sybil's reading habits: 
> 
> When initially writing this I had Emmeline Pankhurst’s ‘Freedom or Death’ speech in mind, but I discovered she didn’t give this speech until November 1913, after this chapter takes place. 
> 
> Therefore, Sybil is simply reading a pamphlet containing her earlier speeches, which were similar in character. Emmeline was the Pankhurst most supportive of Irish home rule, so Tom was likely to be a fan, and I feel that his familiarity with her here is realistic. 
> 
> Mary isn’t against women’s suffrage, but she isn’t a radical, and would have disapproved of the militant strategies they were using. She’s also very protective of Sybil, and unwilling to allow her to be put in harm’s way. Suffragette rallies in this period often ended in arrest and imprisonment, and I think she’d want to keep Sybil far away from that.
> 
> A link to the ‘Freedom or Death’ speech - it should be free to access in the UK at least: https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2007/apr/27/greatspeeches


End file.
